


In Your Garden We Grow

by ShadesinBlue



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Flowers, Fluff, Journalism, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesinBlue/pseuds/ShadesinBlue
Summary: Every town has a secret. It's Duff's job to expose them.Or the one where a mysterious gardener with a buried secret is investigated by the worlds worst journalist.





	1. The Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Flower AU with a twist?  
> I don't own GNR and this is all a work of fiction.

“For the last time, McKagan, I am not transferring you to another department.” Duff’s boss cuts him off before he can argue, barely glancing away from the stack of small-script documents piled in front of him. “That includes splitting you part-time between them.” The stiff silver mustache twitches above his lip, light reflecting off of the rounded glasses balanced on the brim of his nose. He raises watery eyes to Duff’s as he lets out a particularly exasperated sigh.

“With all due respect, Mr. Newton,” Duff struggles to say the words without a hint of sarcasm, “I think I’ve more than proven my worth as a journalist for this paper.”

“That so?” Newton eyes him, mouth thinning into a flat, pinched line. “How do you reckon? Was it the article you submitted yesterday about the benefits of treating your dog like he understands English? Or the one from last week with the woman you interviewed who claimed she’d been a successful eighties rock star in her past life?”

Duff feels his face begin to burn. “That one was captivating, I think! Not to mention, who’s to say she wasn’t?” He crosses his arms, feeling proud of himself for the flawless defense of his work. The article in question had been rather difficult to swing what with the uncertain proof of past lives existing clashing with the fact that news articles typically are based around solid fact and evidence.

“Ah, yes, you might just be right McKagan.” Newton pulls a stained pipe out from under his desk. It’s already smoking and Duff wonders yet again how his boss manages it. “Except for the fact that you’re wrong, per the usual.” The man takes a long pull from the pipe before blowing the smoke up at Duff’s face in a weak ring. “Seeing as her birth certificate read that she was born in 1963 and during the actual eighties she had a nifty job as a groupie smuggling crack to strung-out guitarists.” Newton shoots Duff a grim smile, smoke fogging his glasses as it pours from between the gaps in his yellowed teeth.

“By all means, try to convince me again why I should give you a chance to screw up the hard news that actually matters, McKagan. You know I love to laugh.” He coughs out a strangled wheeze Duff figures is meant to be a chuckle. “Matter of fact, tell me why I even keep you at this job at all.”

Duff feels the edges of his mouth quiver against his pasted on smile. “No need to be hasty, boss. Plenty of people read my work and like it. You remember, just the other day a woman wrote in saying my pieces make her week!”

“That’s because that woman, along with everybody else, thinks they’re comedic pieces.”

Duff shrugs. “So, maybe other people love to laugh too.” He raises his hands in surrender at Newton’s death glare. “All I’m saying is just give me a chance. One’s all I need. I’ll write my normal fluff-filler articles for you and on the side I’ll work on a hard news piece that’ll blow your socks off.”

Newton stares at him for a split second before he nods, slow like the idea hasn’t grown on him quite yet but is getting there. “Fine. You’ve got till the end of the month and that’s plenty generous.  If you flop though, no more begging for upper-level pieces or department switches, got it?”

Duff beams. “Got it, sir.” Newton expects him to fail, that much is obvious. Duff can work with that—he finds that low expectations tend to help rather than harm in the long run.

“Good.” Newton rolls his eyes, waving Duff out with his hand. “Now get outta here, punk.” Duff doesn’t need to be told twice.

A genuine smile spreads across his face as he swings open the office door. Finally, a chance to prove himself worthy of a spot on the hard news team, able to keep up with the journalists covering all the dirty scoops and juicy gossip. He knows this could be his big break; his moment to shine, come up with the best article of the year. All he needs to do now is find a scoop, something that’ll blow anything else out of the water in comparison.

Duff steps out of the office, feeling worlds better than he did when he stepped in. He swings around, ready to brainstorm the rest of the day away, only to come face-to-face with none other than Saul ‘Call me Slash’ Hudson, also known as Duff’s least favorite person in just about ever.

He feels his face drop into a scowl. The vein above his eye twitches in irritation as it tends to do whenever Saul is around, or brought up in conversation.

“Hudson,” he grounds out. The word is spat, curse-like. His eyes focus on the spot above Saul’s stupid mass of curls.

“Heya, Blondie,” Saul drawls in the lazy manner of speaking he has, every syllable seeming to drip molasses slow from his mouth. “In trouble again?”

Duff isn’t one for confrontation, absolutely never has been. He prefers talking things out, putting himself in others shoes, mediating the situation. When it comes to Saul, Duff finds all of his inhibitions against unnecessary rudeness flung out of the metaphorical window. “Not that it’s any of your business, Saul, but no, I wasn’t in trouble. Actually, you could say I’m in the opposite of trouble.” Duff smirks proudly, certain he’s managed to come out on top already.

 “What would that be, exactly?”

Duff blinks. “What?”

Saul’s lips curl up, long and slow, as he stares at Duff from behind the combined shield of his ridiculously over-sized sunglasses and his hair. “What’s the opposite of trouble?” He repeats the question slow enough that it’s clear he’s mocking Duff. Either that, or he thinks Duff is an idiot. Maybe both, Duff supposes.

Definitely both, Duff realizes as he stutters over a response. How, he wonders, is he unable to think of a single antonym to trouble when asked? And after his grueling four years in college, slaving away for that English minor which has been utterly useless in most things other than learning proper citation.

“Well,” he manages after a solid two minutes of doing his best impersonation of a fish out of water, “doesn’t matter, Hudson. Because no matter what, I’m coming for your job!”

He expects the statement to elicit anger, shock, any negative emotion to wash over Saul’s face and serve as a memory to keep Duff warm on a cold night. Instead, amusement plays out over the parts of Saul’s face Duff can catch a glimpse at. The words must take a moment to fully sink in because after a beat Saul grins in a flash of white teeth. Then, he laughs. The sound is light, care-free and golden, and Duff has never wanted to punch someone as much as he wants to deck Saul right now.

“Sure,” Saul manages, choking the words out in desperate gasps as his laughs taper off into manic giggles. “Sure you will, Blondie.”

Duff grinds his teeth at the nickname. “You think I can’t do it?”

Saul shrugs, shoulders still shaking with suppressed laughter. “Maybe.” He shrugs again. “Maybe not. Not really what I stopped by to ask you.” Duff frowns at the thought of Saul looking for him.

“What do you want?”

Saul smiles at the note of suspicion in his voice. He takes a step closer, stopping when Duff takes an unconscious step back. His hands fidget with the hem of the silly leather jacket he insists on wearing to work. Duff watches him, eyes narrowed at the sudden display of nervousness. He opens his mouth to comment but Saul beats him to it.

“It’s Friday, you know.”

Duff scrunches his nose, squinting at Saul. “Yeah? So what?”

“Most people-” Saul breaks off, fidgets more. Duff is fascinated at the display. Normally, Saul is untouchable, unflappable. Seeing him so clearly out of his element is a rare treat for Duff.

“Most people,” he starts again, “go on dates Friday night.” The last few words are rushed, nearly slurred in the rapid way Saul speaks them.

Confusion bleeds into Duff’s voice. “I guess so. Why does it matter?” He isn’t sure what the point of this conversation is but he does know it’s distracting him from more important things, such as researching an interesting article topic.

Sucking his lip into his mouth, Saul chews on it for a bit before answering. “I was just thinkin’ maybe it’s something me and you could do. Together. Tonight.” His eyes are still hidden from view but Duff is certain they’re trained on the ground between them.

“You could at least look at me while you’re asking me out, Hudson,’ he gripes. Then the weight of his words, of the entire situation hits him. Duff’s mouth falls open in shock as he stares at Saul in abject horror.

“You”- his voice cuts off in a squeak. “You…you just asked me on a date. Me.”

“Yeah, I did.” Duff is glad he isn’t the only one who sounds like he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“Me,” he repeats. His mind feels fuzzy, thoughts swirling around in a haze. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I like you, dumb-ass,” Saul snaps. He’s looking at Duff now, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Now give me an answer so we aren’t just standin’ in the hallway making eyes at each other.”

“I’m not making eyes at you,” Duff protests. Saul shoots him an exasperated look that somehow is easy to read despite half of his face being covered.

Duff gulps, throat suddenly dry. He needs water. Or copious amounts of alcohol to deal with the fact that the guy he actively hates and talks down to just asked him out like a kindergartener with a playground crush. 

He knows he should answer soon. Just open his mouth and tell Saul no, go with his gut instinct. Or, he supposes, say yes and give it a shot. Anything other than standing here, staring.

Of course, in the end, he does neither of those reasonable things.

Duff turns tail and flees, mind preoccupied with hard news slogans and his ability to avoid seeing Saul ever again.


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Duff makes a fool of himself and an urban legend exceeds expectations._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a couple new characters are introduced

“This is possibly the worst thing to ever happen to me,” Duff moans out, faced stuffed into the crevice of the worn-out couch. It smells musty, a faint trace of mothballs and, suspiciously, Diet Mountain Dew. Duff blames Steven for the latter.

He swings his long legs off of the ripped cushions, pushing himself into a sitting position to face the roommate in question. Steven is watching him with a worried expression that resembles an overgrown puppy, huge brown eyes watery like he might burst into tears on Duff’s behalf.

“Did you get fired?” He whispers the inquiry as if speaking it full volume will jinx the answer.

Duff blinks at him, confused. “No. No, actually, I was offered a chance to investigate for a hard news article of my choice.”

The news is decent, Duff thinks, cause for the two of them to go grab some drinks and celebrate. He must be interpreting something in the situation incorrectly though because Steven looks like he just got punched in the stomach and then kicked in his kidneys for good measure.

“Oh,” he breathes out, and an actual tear falls from his eye. “You’ve got cancer!” He shakes his head in a movement Duff thinks might be trying to convey disbelief or denial. “I knew it man, I told you not to sleep with your phone by your head.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Anything that has to be replaced every few months can’t be trusted. I learned that lesson the hard way with milk.”

“You don’t…milk has to be replaced every couple weeks, Steven, not”- Duff takes a deep breath, counts to ten, not that it’s ever done him much good before. “That’s not the point. I don’t have cancer.” He holds a hand up, cutting off Steven’s next words. “Or any other disease, condition, whatever.” Duff glances at Steven and can see the thought forming in his mind. “And I’m not pregnant. Not like that would make much sense but I don’t have time to explain that to you.”

“So, did your ma croak or something? Cause I’m not seeing how your life is ruined.”

“No,” Duff raises his voice, trying his best not to say or do anything rash. Like strangle Steven, or submit him for testing at the nearest scientific center. “No one I know has died, Stevie. Or been diagnosed with cancer.”

Steven raises a bushy blond eyebrow. “But they might’ve gotten knocked up.”

“No!” Duff is yelling at this point. Steven flinches back. Duff stops, looks down to see that in his minor fit of rage he’s grabbed onto their ashtray, more than likely to beat Steven’s head in with. He carefully sets it back onto the three-legged coffee table, takes in the sprinkled flecks of charred soot now staining the dirty carpet. At this point, Duff doesn’t think all the meditation in the world will save him from the blinding fury being cooped in a studio apartment with Steven Adler produces.

“Nothing is wrong with my family.” Duff braces himself. “I was talking about the fact that Saul asked me out today.” He closes his eyes after he says the words, then opens them again because he isn’t five years old. Steven is slack-jawed, staring at Duff in total disbelief.

“Slash asked you out?”

“Saul,” Duff corrects. “And yeah, he did, right before I left for the day.” He crosses his arms petulantly. “Probably assumed I’d say yes too.”

Steven sputters. “Uh, yeah he did! Dude, he’s Slash!” Steven grins at Duff’s pointed look at the nickname. “Fine, Saul, if it makes you feel better, ya big baby. All I’m saying is he’s a good-lookin’ dude, not the worst you could do. He has gorgeous hair, real pretty smile. Closest thing this hick town has to a celebrity what with all those crazy news stories he pulls outta thin air. Plus, I heard he plays some mean guitar in his free time.” A soft blush has made its way to Steven’s cheeks by the end of his little rant, eyes dreamy and distant. Duff wants to puke.

“Anything you wanna tell me about you and Saul, Adler?” Steven turns crimson, ducking his head to hide behind his hair.

“I’m just sayin’, Duff.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, my point stands. You came in acting like the apocalypse was starting outside. It’s not like this is actually going to hurt you in the long run.”

“Of course it will,” Duff argues. “Now I’ll have to avoid him at work.” He shoots Steven a glare. “More than I already do! Plus, what if he tells people? That hurts my credibility if everyone is going around assuming I’m putting out for Hudson!”

“Duff, come on,” Steven sits next to Duff on the tiny couch. He slings an arm around his shoulder, patting Duff’s upper arm. “No one will believe that. We all know you’re a total prude.” 

“I am not!” Duff shrieks, rising to his full gangly height. He’s seething, glowering down at Steven in the hopes he’ll spontaneously combust.  “You know what, if you aren’t going to take the situation seriously then just forget it!” He scowls. “I don’t even want to talk about this anyway.”

Steven blinks up at him. “Yeah? Then why did you storm in here yelling about how you’re done with the world and all its cruel ironies?”

“Because I like to complain,” Duff snaps. He throws his hands in the air, well and truly done with Steven and his complete lack of common sense, empathy, and personal hygiene. “The real problem is that I have until the end of this month to have a story on Newton’s desk that’ll make everyone else’s reports look like child’s play. That’s seventeen days, Stevie! Seventeen! I know that number is a bit high for you to count to but”, he ignores Steven’s one finger salute, “that’s not much time. And I have no idea what to write about.” He groans, falling back onto the couch in defeat. This is so much worse than the time his interview fell through for the story about circus clowns escaping the ring.

“You could find a drug circle?” Steven suggests.

“Saul’s already done five articles like that in the past month,” Duff mutters, resting his head in his hands. “I don’t want to be a copycat.”

“Well,” Steven sighs. Duff feels, suddenly, like the majority of his relationship with Steven consists of the two of them sighing at each other in varying ways. “If that’s the case, you’re screwed dude. There isn’t anything Slash hasn’t done.” He begins to tick off on his fingers, “Adultery, lead in the water, dog-napping, child-napping, armed robberies.” He looks at Duff with pity. “You need a miracle story.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Duff lowers his hands, staring at his open palms as if they hold the answers to all of his problems. “I just need something he hasn’t done, Steven. One thing that he can’t do, hasn’t been able to crack yet. Something the people in this town want to read more than anything else.”

Duff frowns, reaching up to tug at a strand of peroxide dyed hair. He knows he can think of an idea. He doesn’t have a choice in the matter. The future of his career is dangling before him like an offering, and all Duff needs to do is reach out. Take the leap. He chews on his lip, brain scanning through endless possibilities, twisting and turning and—

And that’s when it hits him.

Duff is off the couch in the blink of an eye. He grabs his keys from the kitchen counter before turning to Steven with what he knows must be a manic glint to his eye. “Get up. We’re going out for a while.”

 Duff heads for the door, nearly skipping on his way out. Steven is stammering behind him, hot on Duff’s heels as he flings the apartment door wide open. He turns fast, almost causing Steven to run into him. Duff waits for him to steady himself, grin spreading across his face.

“I’m gonna deliver the best story this sorry town has ever seen. And I know just where to start to get the interview I need set up.”

Steven shifts on his feet. “But what’s the story about?”

“What does everyone in this town talk about this time of year? What’s the one thing Saul can’t do, hasn’t been able to score?” Duff watches with glee as Steven’s eyes slowly widen in awe.

“You’re gonna go after The Gardener?”

Yeah, Stevie,” Duff’s grin widens. “I’m gonna go after The Gardener.”

 

                                                                                                      ------

 

 

Every town has a secret, whether big or small. Duff knows this, intrinsically. It’s his job to know, after all. Those secrets are always there, swimming beneath the ripples of daily life, lurking under the depths of ordinary conversations like a leviathan in the water. They’re only waiting for someone to come along and expose them to the light, let them take a breath of fresh air. That someone is Duff.

The Gardener started off as a local joke in the small town of Temperance. He was just some guy, an outsider, who’d moved to the outskirts of town in the abandoned Hillfort mansion. The mansion wasn’t dilapidated or rumored to be haunted; it had an enormous sun room and stained glass windows that sparkled from a mile away, with large amounts of land surrounding the quaint red-brick home. Sure, the guy kept to himself, seemingly preferring to spend most of his time either at home or traveling to the big city for his kicks. No one much cared about him then. Duff, at that time, had caught sight of the man maybe once or twice, just a blur of red hair and pale skin flitting along the edges of a crowd. He hadn’t given any thought to him—no one had.

That was until the Annual Gardening Festival, which took place every year on the last day of February. The festival’s a bit of a running gag between locals, as most things tended to be in Temperance. The winters while not harsh still affected most gardens in a negative aspect, killing off the flowers until spring reared its head come March. Contestants for the festival were chosen as winners based on whose flowers hadn’t completely died or frosted over. Normally, the plant taking home the gold was potted, or, on the rare occasion, made of plastic. The entire town would laugh and the champion plant would reside in City Hall until it too, inevitably, rotted.

Two years back, the sign-up sheet for the Festival had a new name added to the list of contestants; a name which would later haunt the towns peace of mind. Axl Rose. The outsider wanted to join in on town tradition. The name scrawled on the bottom of the list in drawn out cursive was looked at with curiosity by whoever saw it but overall ignored. That was until two nights before the competition.

Duff remembers it with vivid intensity. Remembers the whispers around town, the wonder and fear at the sight of Axl’s roses, grown overnight into monstrous bushes spreading around the entire house like Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted castle. Hundreds of roses, pushing out of the barren, frost-covered ground in an impossible show of defiance, all in varying shades of red: crimson, scarlet, ruby, the rusted shade of blood. Thorns twisted throughout the tapestry of beauty, pricking anyone who dared get close enough to try and pluck a flower. Duff can recall standing in the street, puffs of warm air floating in front of him as he’d stared at the spectacle, crystal snowflakes catching in the green leaves and melting. He had stood for hours, unable to tear his eyes away, the cold turning his cheeks as red as the roses blooming.

Duff hadn’t gone to the Festival that year. He never had before. But he remembers the newspaper article after, written by Saul, featuring a grainy picture of Axl holding the dollar store trophy with pride, like he’d won a million dollars. He can still feel the paper under his fingers as he’d traced the edges of Axl’s smirk.

The entire event had been dismissed with shaky laughter as some sort of hoax, a misunderstanding. Temperance had carried on as normal but with a noticeable aversion to Axl whenever he bothered to wander into town. Then, the following year, the impossible happened yet again. The only difference was the color of the roses had changed to an array of pink hues: blush, champagne, mauve, fuchsia. Axl had won yet again, aloof smirk still in place.

The rumors had exploded after that day. As ridiculous and outlandish as they got, Duff couldn’t help but listen to each one, dissecting them for any shred of truth that might explain the miracle Axl Rose’s garden could produce. The first theory claimed that Axl was some sort of witch, specializing in earth magic that allowed him to charm the ground he walked on to produce flowers which couldn’t die as long as he paid the price in blood. Bouncing off of that idea was the rumor that Axl was a type of land siren, his voice coaxing life from dead ground as he sang to withered roots, crafting them into things of beauty. Then, Duff’s favorite, the thought that Axl had made a deal with some sort of flower illuminati, selling his soul in exchange for magical flowers that could cure any ailment. Duff is certain none of those explanations are true, and if they are, none have been proven as such by any towns-member.

The outrage Axl’s flowers produced had drawn in journalists and magazines from all over the country, looking for a captivating story that didn’t revolve around death and suffering. Axl had remained tight-lipped, revealing nothing with his Mid-Western drawl as he’d waved the reporters away. Duff remembers Saul coming into the office upset because Axl refused to speak with him in any way.

Duff knows there’s no real guarantee that Axl will speak to Duff to reveal his methods. It’s more likely that Axl will kindly tell Duff to take a nosedive off a tall building, if the rumors about his temper turn out to be fact. But Duff is desperate, and he knows that while Axl may be trouble, desperate people tend to be far more dangerous.

Which is why Duff is currently driving like a bat out of hell to get to Rae’s Hot-Spot, swerving around cars like he’s in a video game instead of driving down a narrow, busy road. Steven is in the passenger seat hanging on for dear life, looking a bit green in the face.

“Tell me again,” Steven manages to choke out, “why we’re going here?” Duff glances at him and nearly steers into the other lane, notified of his error by Steven’s panicked yelp.

“I go here a lot after work to relax and write,” he says dismissively. “He comes in around this time whenever I’ve gone.”

“And so you’re gonna what?” Steven swallows hard, against what Duff thinks is rising vomit. “Jump in front of him while he’s ordering coffee and ask for an interview?”

“No.” That’s exactly what Duff planned to do.

Steven groans. “You totally were, dude.” They pull into the parking lot of Rae’s, and Duff is pleased to find an empty spot. Rae’s Hot-Spot is a favorite in town, known for the butterscotch hot chocolate served piping hot. The shop is typically packed but this evening it’s fairly empty.

Duff turns the car off, unbuckling his seat belt before hopping out of the car. He hears Steven hurry to follow, the creak of his door hinges echoing in the cold air. “It’ll be fine. Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

“That doesn’t reassure me much, Duff,” Steven mutters under his breath.

“Just don’t think about it then,” Duff chirps. He can feel success so close, can almost taste it. He just needs to get Axl to say yes. Steven grumbles out a string of words under his breath as he pulls the door open. A rush of warmth hits them both in the face, along with the sweet scent of vanilla and fresh-baked bread. The vintage aesthetic of the coffee shop is comforting, like a snap-shot memory taken from an old photograph. And there, alone in front of the counter, a beacon of copper hair falling over the back of a worn denim jacket.

“That’s him,” Duff breathes out, hope swelling in his chest. He feels himself move forward, distantly hears Steven’s protests from far away. All that matters is the figure in front of him, the key to his victory. The words to say are falling into place, suave and charming, perfect to convince Axl to go along with what Duff wants. He can feel them on the tip of his tongue. Duff puts on his best smile, the one he’s used to get out of chores, or trouble at school, even being fired by Newton for late deadlines.

It all goes to shit. One second, Duff is confident, on top of the world. The next, Axl has turned around, pink lips pursed as he blows steam from the tiny opening in the lid. Duff’s mouth is suddenly dry, hands shaking by his sides. He’s never seen Axl up close before. Which is a good thing, he realizes, because apparently an up-close Axl paralyzes Duff and short-circuits his brain until he’s rendered incompetent. Axl, mere inches from Duff’s personal bubble of space, is gorgeous to the point of unfairness. It would make Duff angry if he were currently able to feel anything other than a fluttering in his stomach and chest.

It’s fine. He can recover from this. It’s a pretty guy making shapes with his perfect lips that should be illegal in this state but whatever, not like Duff can’t handle it. Or so he thinks, until Axl glances up. His eyes are a kaleidoscope—a myriad of blue, grey, green, all swirled together and flashing under the dim lights. Duff draws in a short gulp of air as he meets Axl’s eyes.

“You’re way hotter than I was expecting,” he blurts. His body immediately seizes in horror at his words. Axl blinks at him. Duff blinks back. Steven is probably doing some blinking of his own from behind them but Duff can’t be bothered to turn around and look.

A moment passes before the corner of Axl’s lip pulls into a familiar smirk. Those watercolor eyes make a show of passing down Duff’s body, slow, then travelling back up to his face. Axl cocks his head, red hair falling to the side. “You ain’t too bad yourself, sugar,” and that voice will keep Duff awake tonight, gravel-deep but silky around the edges. Duff makes a sound that might be a whimper.

Axl’s smirk widens, turns dirty. “There anything I can help you with? Seems like you mighta been lookin’ for me. I don’t wanna make a bad first impression, especially with such a pretty little thing.”

Steven sounds like he might be choking. Duff is enraptured, staring at Axl. He knows he needs to ask about the garden. That’s what he came here for. He wants an interview.

Axl raises an eyebrow at Duff’s continued silence. He nods, eyes still stuck to Duff’s, as if confirming something to himself. “Right. Well, babydoll, you ever figure out what you needed me for, I have a feelin’ you know where to find me. Feel free to stop by.” And then he’s leaving, brushing past Duff without another word.

The jingle of the door as it swings closed causes Duff to flinch. His body relaxes out of his stupor. He feels like the world’s biggest idiot, and he’s sure Axl would agree.

Steven moves to stand next to him. Neither speak for a moment before Steven breaks the silence. “Huh,” he pauses. “That went about as bad as I expected but in a totally different way.” He lets out a low whistle. “Maybe the witch thing isn’t too far off.” 

Duff grunts in response.


	3. A Change in Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The part where a miscalculated move is played and everything falls apart._

Duff grips the battered steering wheel of his car, willing himself to relax. He stares at the looming house in front of him, the long driveway stretching to the front door which seems miles away. The past fifteen minutes have consisted of Duff sitting in his idling car, looking worriedly between the gas meter and Axl’s porch, attempting to convince his body to move from the safe space of the driver’s seat. He knows he’s being ridiculous, not to mention downright creepy, but he’s apprehensive about seeing the gardener again. A couple nights back, he’d made a terrible first impression, drooling over Axl like he was seconds away from jumping his bones right there in the coffee shop; however, he’d convinced himself, and Stevie through the locked bathroom door, that he could fix things.

 The scenario Duff had imagined—him showing up to Axl’s, cool and collected—now seems to be a distant fantasy. The longer Duff spends hyperventilating outside of the house, the more certain he is that this meeting can only go worse than the previous one. Call it a premonition, but Duff feels it in his bones and it makes him want to run. Scurrying off without even speaking to Axl, though, would be admitting defeat which Duff refuses to do. He isn’t about to go to work tomorrow with empty hands, no lead on a story, and face Saul’s smug, conceited look when word gets around that he’s failed. Besides, as Duff has been loitering out front, Axl had come outside onto the porch with another dark figure, head turned in the direction of his piece of scrap-metal junk. They’ve been watching him for quite some time now, and Duff figures it’ll be a relief for them to realize they aren’t being stalked from afar by a crazed killer and instead they’re just being stalked by Duff.

 “Come on, McKagan, you can do this. Just think of something funny to settle your nerves, like Steven in his underwear.” Duff promptly dry heaves, lunging from the car to cough up spit onto the ground. Crouched down low, Duff hears cackling from the area near the house and groans. Of course Axl had to witness that spectacle.

 Duff trudges up the walkway, feet dragging in forced steps as he fights the urge to duck out of sight and crawl into a hole in the ground. The laughter is fainter now but definitely still present, and Duff is glad someone is getting a kick out of his shitty luck. When he’s close enough to the house, Duff raises his gaze, eyes using any excuse to catch on the detailing of the brick porch instead of meeting the amused stares he feels leveled at him. All at once, Duff is berating himself for every choice he made before leaving the apartment this morning; starting with his sweater button-down combo, and ending with the fact he hadn’t downed a shot of vodka to loosen up.

 “Now what do we have here?” The voice speaking is deep, cigarette clogged and filled with bite. Duff flinches back from it, eyes still glued to the floor beneath him.

 “Izz, lay off,” and there’s Axl’s baritone, silky as ever. Duff wonders for a split second what that voice might sound like singing. He finally dares to look up, pointedly ignoring Axl for fear of a repeat of the other night. Instead, Duff takes in the stranger—Izz, Axl had called him. Duff can’t make out much behind the stringy black hair covering half of his face or the black sunglasses resting high on the bridge of his nose. Duff is violently reminded of Slash and takes an instant dislike to the man. From the scowl on his face, Duff can guess he isn’t in this guy’s Top Ten either. With or without his approval, Duff is getting his interview agreement from Axl whether it kills him or anyone else in the vicinity. It isn’t like Duff hasn’t dealt with hostile people before in his line of work anyways, even if none have looked like Father Death himself, wrapped in black from head to toe the way Mr. Doom-and-Gloom is over here.

“Izz,” Duff is speaking before he can stop himself. “That’s a weird little name you’ve got, huh?” Great, he’s just insulted what is most likely Axl’s friend. Steven always said he could be rash when it came to all important aspects of his life.

 Axl snorts out a laugh, amused. Duff grins in response, finally looking towards the redhead. Axl is wearing a faded Stones shirt under his leather jacket, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. His eyes glow in the morning sunlight, crinkled around the corners as he smiles at Duff. The bottom of Duff’s stomach drops out, butterflies setting in as he helplessly ogles at the strands of hair falling loose around Axl’s face.

 “If you’re done eye-fuckin’ Ax, over there,” from Axl’s friend who Duff had completely forgotten existed. “The name is Izzy. Izzy Stradlin.”

 Duff whips his head to stare at Izzy, mouth fluctuating between a shit-eating grin and gaping in utter disbelief. “And that’s somehow better?”

 Silence for a split second and then— “It’s true Izz!” Axl is bent double, guffawing, laughs tapering into wheezes. “I told you the same thing when you asked me, don’t pretend I didn’t.” Izzy scowls and swats at Axl who bats his hand away easily, wiping tears from his watering eyes.

 “Oh fucking sure, you get to prance around callin’ yourself Axl Rose and nobody blinks an eye, it’s all fine and fucking dandy. But when I do the same all of a sudden everyone’s givin’ me shit for it.”

 “I don’t prance,” Axl protests, eyes narrowing. At the same moment, Duff’s big, stupid mouth decides to open with “Well, duh, he’s gorgeous.” Axl and Izzy both turn to stare at Duff: Axl amused and smug, Izzy with total disgust.

 “See,” Axl says, nudging Izzy in the side with a sharp elbow. “Told ya’ there was a reason I liked him.”

 Izzy makes a strangled sound low in his throat. “You’ve met him once, Ax. Not to mention he showed up today blowin’ chunks on the front lawn.” Izzy turns his head in a lazy swivel to meet Axl’s eyes. “Was that what turned ya’ on to him? Cause to each their own but I gotta say I don’t see the appeal.” He smirks down at Duff. “I’m more worried about avoiding the splash zone, if you catch my drift.”

 Axl shoves Izzy hard enough to topple his balance, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, a light smile on his face. “Shut up, smart-ass. You’re gonna scare him away.” He turns to Duff, eyes spring green, face thoughtful as he gives him a once-over. “Though you’ve gotta point. Maybe I should grab you some ginger ale or something for your stomach?” Axl grins, a sharp, wild thing with flashes of white teeth. “Can’t have you going back to town telling them I don’t know how to treat a guest at my home. My reputation down there is bad enough as it is.”

 The reason for this visit smacks Duff in the face. He feels foolish, already forgetting the purpose of journeying out to Axl’s house today. It’s so easy to forget with Axl Rose standing in front of him, vivacious and thrumming with life.

 Duff doesn’t necessarily want ginger ale. His stomach has recovered from the upset picturing Steven had produced and isn’t likely to get sick again any time soon. But, on the plus side, he supposes a drink will give him something to guzzle in between the words he has to speak to convince Axl to give him an interview. The less he converses with Axl, the better it will be for Duff’s pride and sanity.

 “Sure,” he says, shrugging. Axl nods, pleased as he moves towards the door. Izzy holds out a hand to stop him.

“I’ll grab Blondie’s drink.” Duff winces at the nickname, more certain with each passing minute that Izzy is tied with Slash for most annoying person Duff has had the displeasure to meet.

 “Besides,” Izzy smirks, “I don’t wanna break up your little boyfriend pow-wow or nothing.” He dodges Axl’s fist, snickering as he turns towards the house’s entrance.

 Duff shoots Axl a worried look. He knows it might be rude but Duff needs assurance that Izzy won’t try to slip him anything deadly, or, alternatively, a laxative of some sort. He might be a tad paranoid but after Steven poured half a bottle of Pepto-Bismol into the “smoothie” he made Duff one morning, he’s not taking any chances. The last thing he needs is to be spewing out of both ends on his second meeting with Axl.

Axl must notice his anxiousness because he shakes his head, grinning. “He ain’t gonna poison ya’ or nothing, I swear.” Axl seems sure in his statement but Duff isn’t entirely convinced. Partly because he’s learned to be untrustworthy of most well-meaning comfort; partly because Izzy is standing shadowed in the doorway behind Axl, eyes dead and drilling holes into Duff’s forehead as he slowly moves his trench coat aside to flash a stowed away hunting knife.

 “Is he flashing that dumb-ass knife behind me right now, cause I told him to stop doing that when he meets people for the first time.” Axl purses his lips, crossing his thin arms. “Don’t let him spook ya’, the closest he’s ever come to cutting anything with it is bread at the dinner table.” Izzy glowers at Axl, moving out of the doorway and sinking back into the house.

“Huh,” Duff says, “are all your friends certifiably insane?” He thinks it’s a fair question deserving an honest answer. 

“Nah. Izzy isn’t crazy either, he’s just neurotic. And a little territorial. But we’ve been friends for so long now, we go way back to Indiana.” Duff files the location away—obviously for investigative purposes, and not because now he knows where Axl’s accent is from.

 “No one gets me like he does, and we never really learned to play nice with other people, so”-Axl gestures in the air with his hand in a flippant move, “Half the time we wanna kill each other but best friends, right, what’re you gonna do?”

Duff thinks of Steven and finds his head bobbing up and down. “Yeah. Yeah I get it, unfortunately.”

Axl smiles at Duff, jerking his chin to the side. “Get up here. Been standin’ down there this whole time, feels weird yelling down at you just to talk.”

 Duff scrambles up the porch steps, mindful of his own clumsiness. He still trips a bit on the top step, arms pin-wheeling low at his sides. Hands wrap around his shoulders, steadying him before pulling him away from the ledge. Duff finds himself inches from Axl’s face, with warm hands still on his shoulders, the fingers now gently massaging circles into the cotton of his sweater. This position is one Duff could stay in potentially forever, this shared space with Axl, breaths mingling, foreheads bowed and close together. It’s also a perfect recipe for disaster if he’s going to keep things professional during his request for an interview.

 Moving a step back from Axl is harder than it should be, logically, seeing as Duff only met the guy a few days ago. It still hurts. He backs away, palms clenching and unclenching to avoid reaching back out for Axl’s hands. Axl’s forehead knits together at the sudden distance, hands still hanging in the air from their place on Duff’s shoulders just a second ago. He takes a step forward, toward Duff, eyes hesitant. Duff’s cheeks immediately blaze bright red, the rest of his face quickly turning the same splotchy shade. Axl blinks at him. Then that satisfied smirk from earlier etches itself onto his face as he takes another step forward, then another, until he’s once again inches from Duff. His pale face angles up, lips chapped from the winter wind. For a terrifying, heart-stopping second Duff thinks Axl is going to kiss him on the front porch of his house, teeth chattering, for the whole world and Izzy to see.

Instead, Axl holds Duff’s gaze, smirk widening. “What was it you wanted to ask me about, babydoll?”

Duff melts. Duff panics. His mind is thrown into turmoil as he tries to think of what it is he’s wanted to ask Axl for this long. And this is all it takes to undo him in the end, is the true embarrassment. A pair of pretty eyes looking at him from underneath long ginger lashes as Axl smirks and preens under his attention.

Duff forces his brain to focus because he cannot keep freezing up every time Axl looks at him. Though, he’s doing quite a bit more than looking at the moment. Still, Duff has work to do. Work that matters, work with a deadline looming closer and Axl is the key to everything. He has to do this, there isn’t a choice in the matter.

“Interview,” he blurts, ineloquent in every way. He flinches at the panicked tone in his own voice. Wonderful. Another moment to persuade and convince, blown in the face of his own ineptitude. Duff imagines a meteor falling from the sky and crashing into him, putting both himself and Axl out of this awkward nightmarish misery.

A flicker behind Axl’s eyes is the only reaction Duff can see. “What?” Axl’s voice is small, toneless, almost a whisper. It sounds nothing like the man from seconds before who’d flirted with no shame, voice playful and self-assured.

“An interview,” Duff repeats. Apparently, he’s lost what two brain cells he’s been rubbing together because he still cannot come up with anything better to say. “You know, for the paper?” He wants to slam his face repeatedly into the side of the house. Or into his own fist, he isn’t awfully picky.

“Oh,” Axl takes a step back. Then another, until there’s significant space between the two of them. “I see. You’re a journalist.” His voice is still off, shoulders hunching in on themselves. There’s a strain to his jaw like he might be biting the inside of his cheek. Duff’s chest clenches at the sight. 

“Yeah. I work for the Temperance Herald, our local paper. I wanted to see if I could interview you for a piece I’m doing. Maybe? If you’d like to, you know, only if it’s interesting to you.” Duff is rambling, mouth spilling out words as he eyes Axl who looks increasingly upset as Duff prattles on.

“Of course you do.” That’s a tone of defeat if Duff’s ever heard one. “You know,” Axl says, and Duff braces himself, “I should’ve known nobody in this town would just try to talk to me for conversations sake, or”—He breaks off, mouth twisting into an ugly grimace as he looks off into the distance. “No one here ever has,” he finishes. “When I moved here, people just fuckin’ looked right through me like I was a ghost. Like I didn’t belong. It wasn’t until…wasn’t till later anyone paid me any attention and even then they still never came up to me. Just talked behind my back like I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

Duff is at a loss. He wants to protest, to tell Axl that isn’t true, of course people in Temperance would talk to him if he tried to include himself. But he thinks of the dismissal towards Axl when he was a boring newcomer, of the way the town hadn’t shunned him but had pretended he wasn’t there. All because he was different from the rest of them, didn’t fit in with his strange drawl and cowboy boots. Duff thinks of himself, of the fact he hadn’t even bothered to learn Axl’s name until the roses. Hadn’t much cared to try learning.

“See,” Axl says, watching Duff. “It’s always the same with you townies. Always. You only wanna talk to me to figure it out. What I’m doing for the Festival.” Duff flinches. Axl sneers at him, cold as ice. His eyes have turned electric, poisonous and acid-colored with his anger. Duff finally sees that temper, boiling under the surface of his skin until needed.

“That’s what you’re here for, right?” Axl laughs, a jagged sound with not a single trace of humor that sets Duff on edge, wary. “You wanna ask how I do it, how I make them grow,” he drawls, smirk back in place. But there’s no softness to it this time, no teasing flirtation. “The roses.”

 “What else would I want to ask you about?” The moment the words are spoken, Duff wishes he could grab them back from the air, make them unheard. But it’s too late. Axl looks as if Duff wound back and punched him, chest rising in a ragged motion like he’s short of breath.  They both are caught in those hurtful, callous words. Duff knows there’s nothing he can say now to convince Axl on an interview much less to get Axl to speak to him ever again.

The door bangs back open, Izzy holding a glass of ginger ale with an odd yellow tint to the liquid. “Came back as soon as I could,” he says, head moving to look between them. “Everything okay? Thought I imagined hearing some angst bullshit when I was in the kitchen.”

Axl’s hand shoots out, grabbing the glass from Izzy in a violent maneuver that sloshes half of the glasses contents everywhere. The rest, he pours from the cup as he wrenches it upside down, the soda fizzing as it hits the brick porch. Axl’s eyes don’t leave Duff’s until the last drop is gone and then he’s storming inside the house in a flurry of motion that makes Duff’s head spin. 

“Oh, so that’s how the conversation went,” Izzy says, gleeful. He pats Duff on the shoulder, harder than necessary, teeth bared in an imitation of a sympathetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout it, Blondie. Better luck next time.” And then Izzy is following Axl, slamming the door in Duff’s face.

Duff is left alone, eyes still glued on the wooden door in shock. The only way that might’ve gone worse is if Duff had insulted Axl’s mom while he was at it. The look on Axl’s face when he’d realized what Duff was there for swims to the forefront of Duff’s mind and he feels momentarily nauseous. He turns away from the door, feet dragging as he makes his way down the porch steps, numb.

As he walks, Duff thinks about the utter mess he’s made of the entire situation. It isn’t rocket science to figure out Axl now hates his guts. That’s fine. Well, it makes Duff want to lay in bed for the next month and sob, actually, but that just isn’t an option. He can’t change what happened with Axl, though he wants to. But, at the end of the day, Axl was his job. And if Duff views him as only that, he can push aside this churning ache in his chest and think of what needs to be done.

Duff swings the door to his car open, throwing himself into the seat. He groans, thumping his head against the wheel. Fourteen days left. Two weeks to throw this article together or he’s done for. Duff needs information about the roses, needs something to base this article around. He isn’t getting any help from Axl, that’s for sure.

Drumming his fingers along the wheel, Duff studies the house before him. Axl will not assist him with his article. Duff is not willing to give up on this piece. He recognizes that maybe he doesn’t need Axl himself to give him information. Maybe Duff just needs to do a little digging of his own. In the end, everyone keeps their secrets close to home. Duff is willing to bet Axl is no exception.

 He draws his phone out of his back pocket, dialing the number he knows he needs to call for help with the plan forming in his head. The phone rings twice before the receiver clicks.

“Hey, Nikki,” Duff says. “There’s a favor I need from you.”


	4. Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The moment in which Duff begins his professional criminal career and Nikki guides him along._

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Steven yells. Duff slaps a hand over his mouth, glaring at the disgruntled blond. When he’s positive Steven is done screaming, he lowers his hand cautiously.

“Yes, Stevie. I already told you I was dead serious about this earlier today when I asked you to help.” Duff holds up a finger to Steven’s lips when he starts to protest. “If I recall correctly, you said it sounded like a blast.”

 “That’s because I thought you were joking, Duff!” Steven glances around nervously as if someone might overhear them from inside the locked car. “I didn’t think there was an actual chance in hell you’d go through with it, okay?” 

A head of tussled black hair pops up from the back seat, the chemical scent of hairspray fresh in the stale air pouring from the car’s heater. “I gotta know, was it when I forced you into an all-black track suit that tipped you off we were being serious? Or the tinted windows on the car? Or the past two hours we’ve been staking out this fucker’s shitty house? Don’t tell me you thought it was for shits and giggles, man.”

 Steven glares at Nikki, the painted on streaks of black under his eyes smudged with perspiration. His blond curls stick out from under a black beanie and Duff would take a picture to remember the sheer absurdity of this moment if what they’re about to do wasn’t completely illegal. Duff has seen the inside of a jail once—they took a field-trip in his second grade year to the local prison. He’d been selected as the mock prisoner, dressed in a jumpsuit that swamped his smaller frame before being shoved into a cold cell while the rest of the class had pointed and laughed at his tears. Saul had thrown peanuts at him. Duff shudders at the memory. He certainly isn’t keen to have a repeat experience.

“This plan of yours is nuts, Duff. There is no way this won’t go up shit’s creek, you know that right?” Nikki giggles and Steven shoots him a death stare. “Where did you even find this clown, anyways?”

“He used to party with me in college. I went to this huge kegger at Slash’s house back in the day, got wasted drinking a bottle of Jack and passed out in the backyard running from the cops.” Nikki sighs, wistful. “I was such a lightweight back then.” He shakes his head, hair standing at stiff attention. “Next thing I know, Long, Tall, and Handsome over here is dragging me to his car like my own personal parole officer.” Nikki rests his chin on Duff’s shoulder, batting his eyelashes at Steven in a perfect imitation of a drunken goat. “It’s been cloud nine for us ever since.” 

“There is…so much wrong with that story, I don’t know where to start.” Steven glances at Duff in disbelief. “You went to Slash’s party that night? Dude, I remember that! I couch-surfed down the stairs and ran into the wall, had to get four stitches in my head.” Steven rubs his hand over his forehead, frowning. “I don’t think I saw you there. Not to mention I didn’t think Slash would even invite you.”

“Saul,” Duff corrects, as Nikki and Steven simultaneously roll their eyes. “And he didn’t invite me. I crashed so I could sneak into his room and release a jar of fire ants on his bed.” Duff shrugs, jostling Nikki’s head which still rests on his shoulder. “Didn’t work out that way.”

“Boy, did it not,” Nikki drawls, grin stretching maniacally wide as he cackles. “All I remember before the Jack was walking in on a particularly tall blond wrapped around a rather naked Slash. And they for sure weren’t arguin’ about the morning news if ya’ know what I mean.” He winks at a horrified Steven who trains his eyes on Duff in distress.

“No way,” he says, monotone from the shock. “There is no way you banged Slash and didn’t tell me about it!” Steven’s voice tilts high at the end of the sentence as he leans forward into Duff’s face. “Tell me everything right now. How was it? Was he good? I bet he was good, he totally looks like a freak”-He cuts off in a yelp when Duff pinches his side hard enough to leave a bruise.

“We don’t talk about it,” Duff hisses. Nikki is rolling in the backseat, shrieking with laughter, holding his stomach as he flails about in amusement at Duff’s humiliation. “It was three years ago, I had just turned twenty-one, and I took advantage of the free drinks while I was there, okay? It never happened again.”

“But Slash wants it to cause he just asked you out!” Steven is starting to shake with suppressed laughter as well. The only thing stopping him from joining Nikki in the back is the murderous look in Duff’s eyes. Duff doesn’t add that he also hallucinated he was in a famous rock band that night, or that he had eagerly told Slash he could ‘riff on his guitar’ while winking in a drunken manner. He knows he’ll never live that one down.

Oh, yeah,” Nikki sits back up in his seat, eyeliner smeared from his previous laughing bout. “You never told me how that went? He say anything to you at work?” Nikki twirls a lock of Duff’s hair around his finger, grinning. “If he did, I hope it was dirty. You’re so easy to tease.”

Duff slaps at Nikki, who takes the hit with a smirk and a toss of his head. Steven has collapsed against the steering wheel, chuckling himself hoarse. Duff glowers at both of them. “He hasn’t said anything because I haven’t seen him.” That’s a bit of an understatement. Duff has avoided Saul persistently, ducking out of rooms and hiding under tables if he catches a hint of the other man’s presence. There had been a note on Duff’s desk in Saul’s handwriting, tucked under a stack of report files. Duff had dumped it without a second thought.

“Besides,” he continues, “that has nothing to do with why we’re here, so maybe we should try to focus on the task at hand instead, guys.”

 Steven scrunches his nose up, glancing out the window in front of them at Axl’s house. “Why are we here again?”

“Try to keep up, sunshine.” Nikki fiddles with a duffel bag in the back seat. A black bandana has been fastened around the lower half of his face. “We already told you we’re doing a bit of breaking and entering at Mr. Rose’s house right here.”

Duff winces at the words. “Do you have to make it sound so illegal?”

Nikki scoffs, glancing at Duff with a raised eyebrow. “What would you like me to say, Duffy?” His tone turns sickly sweet, dripping with condescension. “We’re taking a lovely stroll through this unoccupied house to borrow information for an article you’re writing?”

“Actually, yeah, that does sound a bit better.” Nikki looks like he wants to strangle Duff at the moment so Duff does the wise thing in this situation and closes his mouth. Nikki seems pleased with that decision. He begins to hum an off-key version of ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ as he unzips the duffel, rifling through the contents. He pulls out a lock-picking set, throwing it into Duff’s lap. Next, he grabs a large flashlight, throwing it at Steven’s head carelessly. Luckily, Steven moves out of the way. A rope and hammer come next, causing both Duff and Steven to exchange a look.

“Um, what are those for?” Nikki rolls his eyes, flourishing the rope as he spins the hammer in a loose circle, nearly beaming Duff in the nose with it.

“In case we run into any trouble, things get tetchy and we gotta fight our way out,” he answers, voice muffled from beneath the bandana. Steven looks on the brink of a full blown asthma attack as Duff stutters over his words.

“We definitely won’t be needing to do that. We’re already breaking into his house, let’s not add premeditated murder to the list, alright?”

Nikki sighs, stuffing the hammer back into the duffel bag. “Fine, princess, but I’m keeping the rope.” Duff decides some battles can’t be won and says nothing. He supposes if Nikki decides to tie someone up there isn’t much he could do to stop him anyway unless he wants to be hog-tied himself.

“How do we even know they won’t be home?” Steven scans the space around them nervously as he asks. The image of Axl pulling into the driveway while they’re inside his house, looking for information and evidence is making Duff’s stomach do some gnarly flips as he glances at Nikki for reassurance. 

“I know a guy who knows Izzy,” Nikki fiddles with Duff’s seatbelt as he answers, “I persuaded him to invite Izzy and his little friend to some party he’s throwing tonight. It started a couple hours ago so we should have plenty of time to get in and out before they even know we were here.”

Steven bites his lip. “Do you know everyone?”

Nikki grins. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

 Duff surveys the empty street around their secluded spot. Nikki had insisted on using his own car for the break-in, making the point that he lived out of town so the car couldn’t be traced back to anyone local. The clunky, black hearse wasn’t exactly what Duff had in mind when he’d thought of an inconspicuous ride but he is grateful for Nikki’s help, twisted as it may be. Night is settling over the horizon, sky bleeding into ink as the sun disappears for the night. Pulling the cap he’s wearing over his blond hair, Duff grabs his phone, stuffing it in his back pocket while he fumbles for his backpack with the other hand.

“If we’re gonna do this, let’s go.” He’s anxious to get this over with. The Hillfort mansion is sprawling and Duff will need time they don’t have to comb through the many rooms and find what he’s looking for. He isn’t entirely sure what that might be yet, so the less time wasted the better. 

Steven’s hands shake as he manually angles the car seat lower. “Remind me why I’m here again.”

“Because you said yes when I told you there’d be food,” Duff says.

“Also you’re lookout. And driving the getaway car if we need a quick escape. Hope you’re quick with your feet, sunshine,” Nikki winks at Steven who flushes tomato red. Duff glances between them, intrigued and determined not to think about it. He jerks his head towards the house, motioning for Nikki to follow him outside.

The pair do their best imitation of sneaking up the walkway to Axl’s house they can manage; however, considering it’s an open area and they both have about as much stealth as a blind elephant in a china room, the stealth level is rather low. Duff is eternally grateful that Axl lives on the edges of Temperance and no neighbors can witness the crime they’re about to commit. Or how badly they’re going to commit it.

Nikki reaches the door first. He pops out the lock kit and goes to work, tongue stuck between his teeth as he furrows his brow with the most concentration Duff has ever seen on his face.

“Shouldn’t we go through the back door,” he whispers. He isn’t sure why he’s whispering as nobody is around save for the two of them but he feels it sets the mood for what they’re doing. 

“Technically, yeah. But I like to make an entrance.” And then, Nikki has picked the lock, gliding in through the front door as Duff splutters behind him. “Duff,” Nikki says, turning to face him in the darkened doorway, “Are you coming or not?”

Duff contemplates turning back around and heading for the car. This isn’t something he can come back from or pretend he hasn’t done. The act of coming into Axl’s personal space while the other man is unaware, unable to defend his home against intruders—it doesn’t sit right with Duff in any capacity. Axl’s face from the other day swims in Duff’s head, disappointed and lonely. No, this doesn’t sit well with Duff in any way. Neither does admitting this article is a lost cause. Duff takes a step into the house.

“Good choice,” Nikki’s voice echoes in the silent room. Duff looks around as he moves further into the house, glancing at the lower level rooms able to be viewed from the main hallway. He isn’t sure what he was expecting upon entering Axl’s house: cold, impersonal, empty. The type of house a local urban legend might have. Or, a house that was altogether fantastical, magic brimming from the walls to complement the stories swirling in town about the home’s owner. But the house is just a house. It’s homey, painted in soft yellows and taupe, the faint scent of vanilla hanging in the air. The kitchen, from what Duff can see as he ducks his head in to glance around, is stocked with ingredients. An entire shelf of spices and condiments line the spot above the small oven and Duff is struck with the domestic image of Axl in an apron cooking food, red hair plastered to his face from the burner heat. He shuts his eyes and the image fades.

The living room downstairs holds a massive grand piano, the seat worn, faded with use. Books are stacked on available surfaces, epics and modern plays alike, pages dog-eared in multiple spots. A space above the stone fireplace has framed photographs of Axl and Izzy in various stages of their youth. Duff picks up one in particular, swiping dust from the glass as he gazes at a young Axl, eyes curious and sad with his red hair just reaching his collar. Duff sets the picture back, turning only to come face-to-face with Nikki.

“You scared the living shit out of me,” he snarls, clutching his chest. In the dim lighting, Duff can only make out Nikki’s eyes shining from the flashlight beam.

“Good thing it was me that snuck up on ya’ and not Rose come home early.” Nikki motions to the hallway. “Bedroom and office are upstairs on the right. Get a move on.”

“Did you find anything interesting so far,” he asks as they move towards the staircase.

“Nope, though I did see this nice silverware set,” Nikki prattles on, stopping when Duff turns with a warning look. “Oh don’t give me that attitude, asshole, I didn’t steal it, so you can stop clutching your pearls.” The pair of them slink up the winding stairs, avoiding creaking steps despite the lack of presence to be alerted by their noise. When they reach the landing, Nikki points Duff in the direction of the bedroom, shuffling off to explore on his own.

The bedroom door groans on its hinges as Duff pushes it open, the heavy wood protesting its movement. He walks in on silent feet, glancing around to take in the room. It’s mostly bare, in here. The closet, when Duff looks inside, just holds clothes and boots, no boxes or trunks of any kind. The only thing in the room besides the bed is a small nightstand balancing a lamp positioned on top of a stack of vinyl records. Duff kneels to look into the drawers. His search turns up empty until he reaches the final drawer. A thick swathe of paper rests inside, tucked against the back of the drawer as if that might hide it from sight. Pulling them out, Duff unfolds the pages, eyes quickly scanning and stopping when he takes in Izzy’s name along with sketches of the rose bushes detailing parts of the letter. There’s no time to read them so Duff pulls out his phone, feeling quite the Nancy Drew, and snaps a handful of pictures before placing the letters back in their hiding place.

Moving out of the bedroom, Duff enters Axl’s office. He heads for the desk in the center of the space, opening drawers and taking photos of whatever he deems interesting or important inside. Phrases and words about the roses catch Duff’s eyes as he snaps away, careful to put everything back as he found it. Straightening from his spot near the ground, Duff heads back into the empty hallway, looking both ways.

“Nikki,” he calls. Waits for an answer. “I swear if you left me here, I’ll hunt you down and steal all your lipstick.”

Nikki’s head pops around the corner, three rooms down, eyes wide. “You done?”

Duff nods. “Let’s dip before they come back.” They scramble back down the narrow stairs, cloaked in near darkness minus the circle of illumination from the flashlight. Nikki maneuvers without much difficulty but Duff cannot say the same for his balance. Halfway down the stairs, he trips hard, body pitching forward and twisting to the side as a loud thud sounds in the quiet. Duff braces himself for a hard fall, only for Nikki’s arms to latch around him from behind, hauling him back. Duff breathes a sigh of relief, detaching from Nikki to start back down. They make it out of the front door without further incident, rushing down the driveway and to the waiting car.

Duff throws the door open to be greeted by Steven’s relieved face. He’s never been so glad to cut and run before in his life and doubts he ever will be again. He bends to lower himself into the car, muscles finally relaxing when a flash of light flies over them, passing through the dark windows. Duff freezes as Steven’s eyes widen in realization. Headlights. A car is pulling into the drive.

The next minute is a complete blur. Duff launches his body into the back through sheer force of will, landing in a tangled heap of limbs. Nikki jumps in right after, pure panic on his face.

“Drive, drive, drive dammit!” He’s screaming at Steven. The car shoots forward as Steven presses on the gas before turning in a sharp loop that almost has the car spinning out. He slams on the gas again and the hearse rockets forward, past and around the truck in the driveway which no doubt contains an enraged Axl and Izzy. The car crashes into the road, screeching as it slides, suspension thrown. It rights and they take off, driving like madmen down the cramped road as they all wheeze out their adrenaline rushes. 

Steven doesn’t stop driving until they’ve blown past the town sign, steering them into a gas station parking lot. The stop is sudden and they all jolt forward before slamming back into place. No one speaks for a moment. Duff realizes they all have faced certain death at the hands of a berserker redhead.

“Tell me,” Steven says finally, voice cracking on the words. “Tell me you got what you needed so we don’t ever have to do that again, Duff.”

Duff feels his head bobbing up and down like a broken marionette. He’s still a little in shock. Still, victory is settling in, the rush of getting away with what they’ve done. His mouth stretches into the beginnings of a smile. “Yeah, I took tons of pictures on my phone. I should have all I need.”

Nikki grunts. His hair is still impossibly perfect and stiff, despite the stress lines on his face. “Well, don’t leave us in suspense. Show us the goods.”

Duff grins in earnest this time before reaching back for his phone. His hand meets space. Frowning, he checks his other pocket, only to turn up empty-handed. Patting himself down, Duff cannot find the familiar lump that signals his cellphone is where it should be on his person. The first wave of panic creeps into his subconscious.

“Um, guys?” He forces the next words out, wishing they could be untrue. “I can’t find my phone.”

Steven cocks his head. “You sure it isn’t back there?”

Duff shakes his head. “No, but I had it on me after I went in the office. I remember, I slipped it in my back pocket and then we”- Cold washes over Duff’s body as he thinks back. Then, he and Nikki had walked down the stairs where Duff had nearly fallen and broken his neck. He thinks of the thud that had echoed when he’d been in free-fall for those few seconds.  His stomach turns at the growing realization.

He meets Nikki’s eyes, whispers the words to him. “I think I dropped it when I fell.” The expression on Nikki and Steven’s faces both reflect abject terror as the meaning of that sentence registers in their minds.

“No,” Nikki says. “No way, man. It’s back there and it just fell out when you jumped in. We’ll find it, it’s fine.”

Duff goes to answer but his eyes are caught by movement from Steven. When his focus lands on what, exactly, Steven is doing, his heart nearly stops in his chest.

“I’ll just call it.” Neither Nikki or Duff have the time to lunge at Steven, knock the phone from his hand. Instead, they watch in dismay as the dial tone rings out from Steven’s phone. Duff prays he’s wrong, that this is a mistake and his phone really is in the back of the car, hidden. He knows the truth of it, though, despite his attempts at denial. The phone rings twice before the line clicks. Silence, from the other end.

Duff shares a series of hurried glances between Nikki, and Steven, unsure of what he should do. They could hang up, he supposes, but then they wouldn’t know for sure. Finally, he makes the obvious, and only choice.

“Hello?”

“Ah.” It’s Axl, Duff can recognize that voice in a heartbeat, the lilt to it as it rasps over phone lines. He shudders at the pure, unadulterated rage in Axl’s words, tone sharp and cutting. Pictures him sitting in the dark, face contorted with fury as he holds Duff’s phone in the ruined safety of his home.

“I thought this might be yours, babydoll. Wasn’t sure though.”

Duff isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t want to answer in the affirmative and confirm that he did indeed break into Axl’s home. It also seems unfair to ignore Axl, treat him with silence after betraying him in such an intimate way.

Axl answers for him. “I know you won’t admit to it. I can’t prove it was you. That’s fine. But in the meantime,” he drawls the word out, voice deceptively soft, “I’ll keep this little memento to remember ya’ by, okay? And if you want it back, well, seems like you know your way in.”

The line clicks dead. Duff closes his eyes, saying nothing. Steven, for once, is also quiet.

Nikki breaks the stillness, letting out a low whistle. “That is fucked.”

Duff can’t help but agree.


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That second where Duff isn't the most oblivious guy in the room and Slash sets his sights on new horizons._

Duff attempts to keep his balance on the three legged office chair he currently sits on, the legs rolling in random directions as he tries to type at his desk. The office is busy today, loud and obnoxious voices calling across the room as his coworkers begin to prepare for the upcoming week. Excitement always rises around the Festival, particularly in these past two years with the mysterious rose bushes due to grow overnight within the next twelve days.

Twelve days left before Duff is shit out of luck, in other words. He’s no closer to getting his phone back from Axl than he was two days ago. Every time he calls, he’s either put straight through to voicemail or Axl answers with taunts to take the phone back himself. Once, Izzy had snatched the phone away from Axl to threaten Duff quite vividly with intense bodily harm if he even thought about coming in the general vicinity of Axl or Axl’s house, ever again. He hasn’t called since because Izzy is absolutely terrifying when truly pissed off and Duff prefers his fingernails attached to his fingers.

He puts his head in his hands, groaning out his frustrations. This entire situation is complete and utter chaos—the worst part is Duff can recognize it’s a mess of his own creation. He’s made foolish mistakes and grave errors since the moment he decided to write this article. That isn’t taking into consideration the amount of offense he’s no doubt caused Axl, despite the other man’s apparent calm. Which is disconcerting to say the least; Duff expected a screaming Axl, an Axl who’d slash his car tires or stake-out his home and beat him into a coma with a rusty lead pipe. Reasonable, level-headed Axl is definitely setting Duff on edge, looking over his shoulder for the other shoe to drop.

Raising his bloodshot eyes to the glowing screen in front of him, Duff sighs and saves his copy of an interview about vampirism in the White House. Newton insisted it would be a great reprieve for readers after they’d digested Saul’s piece this week about yet another kidnapper he’d managed to dig up and report on. Apparently, this one ate parts of his victims too.

Duff reaches for his work phone, not caring about rules or regulations describing the lack of professionalism shown by calling a friend during clocked-in hours. He needs advice on how to handle getting his phone back, how to proceed on this piece.

The phone rings a handful of times before the line clicks on. “Hey, Daddy Long Legs, what can I do for you today?” Duff immediately wonders why he thought Nikki would be the best person to call for help of a sane, conscientious kind.

“Just wanted to talk about what happened the other day,” he replies, twirling the phone cord between his fingers. “He still won’t give it back.”

“I mean, what do you expect, Duff?” The sound of a lighter flicking on travels through the other end of the phone line. “We broke into his house and were dumb enough to drop the phone. The same phone which held any blackmail we mighta had on the guy, no less.” A soft inhale and exhale. “Any luck on the pictures, by the way?”

Duff snorts. He picks at the lining of his desk, watches red painted flakes of wood scratch off. “No,” he says, finally. “I checked my backup like you said, checked the cloud. He deleted everything already. Which means he found a way to hack into my phone, Nikki.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Izzy, probably.” Nikki hums in thought. “Definitely, now that I think about it. Guy’s kinda known for being crafty in the circles he runs in.”

Duff perks up at the words. “Would any of the people that know him have any information about him or Axl? I mean, they go everywhere together it seems like. It could be a lead. Worth a shot, anyhow.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment. Duff frowns when he hears Nikki inhale a deep breath. “Duff,” he begins. Another pause. “Are you sure this is a good thing to do?”

“We already broke into his house for this. You think I should give up now, after all that trouble?”

“I’m not…” Nikki trails off, Duff imagines in thought. “Actually, that is what I’m saying. It was all fun and games for a bit there Duff, but it’s hittin’ a little too close for comfort for me, man.”

“Come on,” Duff protests, “You’re fearless. If I need anyone to help me with this, it’s you.”

“And I will, if that’s what you want, dude,” Nikki promises. His voice is hesitant when he speaks again, which raises the hairs on Duff’s arms more than anything else. Nikki is never unsure, never falters before he speaks or acts. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? And I’ve been asking around about these guys for you and I’m telling you, Duff, these people aren’t who they say they are.”

The office suddenly seems an awful lot warmer. Duff tugs at the collar of his shirt, pitching his voice lower as he glances around to make sure no one is listening in on the conversation. “What do you mean?”

“Just that until a couple years ago, no one even knew who Izzy Stradlin was. Came outta nowhere, spinning some story about moving from home or whatever, but he never mentioned Axl. Most of the guys I talk to don’t even know who that is. They’ve never seen him, Duff. Don’t that seem weird to you?”

Throat dry, Duff scrapes out, “That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s lying.”

“Nah, it doesn’t. Just doesn’t add up. Everyone said he moved from a different state than the last person. No one could settle on a single detail about the guy. And like I said, Axl as good as doesn’t exist to any of ‘em.” Nikki coughs. “And isn’t it strange to you? Axl never works, never leaves unless he’s with Izzy. How’s he affordin’ that fancy house, huh? He’s barely older than you and he’s living like he’s been working a high-end job for years. That don’t seem a little weird?”

It’s more than a little weird, and Duff knows it. “They never have friends or family of their own, can’t seem to name any if ya’ ask,” Nikki continues. “Axl lives on the outskirts of town and barely interacts with anyone. I don’t think anyone’s seen Izzy’s eyes without those damn sunglasses.”

Duff nearly argues that Axl has been photographed in town, for the first Festival, in the paper. But then he thinks of the picture in question. Axl had been wearing a hat that covered his hair, eyes shaded under a pair of sunglasses. The only thing distinctly visible and identifying about him was the smirk. They hadn’t even posted his name in the picture, as he hadn’t given them permission to do so.

Nikki,” he says, slow as he thinks over everything he’s ever known about Axl. Duff is growing increasingly aware with each second how very little that is. “Nikki, I think you’re”- 

Saul breezes into the room just then, eyes already locked on Duff. Duff scans the room, seeing no viable escape option. He deflates back into the chair, resigned. He supposes he should have expected having to face Saul sooner or later.

“Hold that thought,” he tells Nikki. “I gotta go.” He hangs up as Nikki squawks into the phone, knowing his friend will be annoyed about that later.

Saul reaches Duff, eyes free from their usual shield of glasses which only serves to reveal and enhance the determined, steely look in his eye. He leans against the side of Duff’s desk, into his personal space. His hair is pulled back, Duff notes, a few curly strands falling free around his face. Duff is reminded of Axl’s hair when he’d first gone to visit his house, finds he prefers the long red strands over Saul’s any day. 

“Can I help you, Hudson?” He asks the question as politely as he can. Duff can recognize that while he still despises Saul—wants to kick him in the kidneys on good days—he hasn’t been especially fair to the other man. Duff owes him an explanation, at the least, of exactly why he’d rather date a mange-ridden dog.

“Yeah, Blondie, as a matter of fact you can.” Saul narrows his eyes down at Duff. They really are expressive, those eyes, and Duff thinks he might enjoy Saul a bit more if he didn’t constantly have to guess what was going on behind the methods the man uses to hide himself from others.

“But not here,” Saul says. He tilts his head towards the door leading to the breakroom. Newton usually takes up residence there during the day instead of working but he’s out of the office currently on temporary sick leave due to pink eye. Duff is willing to place money on the fact that “pink eye” is code for secret vacation to Key West.

Duff stands to follow Saul. This is made awkward by the fact that Saul hasn’t moved out of Duff’s space yet. They do a little dance, back-and-forth, to get around the other without running into each other. Eventually, they figure it out, and head into the empty breakroom. Saul closes the door behind them, clicking the lock into place. He turns, leaning against the door as he stares at Duff with his arms crossed.

“So,” he drawls. His mouth twitches at the end and Duff is already halfway to irritated.

“So,” Duff mimics back. Saul rolls his eyes at the petty answer, kicking away from the door and moving into Duff’s space once again. Another parallel of Axl doing the same swims in the back of Duff’s thoughts before he forcibly shoves the memory away.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Duff looks down at Saul, glad for the height difference. “You asked me out on a date last time we talked. Out of nowhere, might I add.”

“You’re a real dipshit if you think that came outta nowhere, McKagan.” Saul shakes his head, springing more curls loose from their confines. “I mean, we flirt all the time.”

Duff nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?” He motions between the two of them. “This? You’re calling this flirting? Saul, you can’t stand me! You constantly insult and belittle me in front of others. When I started working here after you, you personally led the hazing event that locked me out of my computer unless I guessed the right passcode. Which, let me remind you, turned out to be “Duff Eats Ass”. So not only are you an asshole, Hudson, you’re also a kink-shamer.” He glares at Saul, that familiar anger settling in. “That’s excluding the fact you leave anonymous comments on my articles making fun of my writing. And my hair. And my mom, which is totally not cool by the way.” Duff is panting with anger by the time he’s nearly finished, fists clenched hard enough to leech the blood from his knuckles. “That isn’t even getting into the stunts you pulled all throughout school and college!”

Saul smirks, snaking an arm around Duff’s hips and pulling him close, much to Duff’s spit-inducing fury. “Babe, come on, we both know you liked the attention.” He smiles at Duff’s death-stare. “Don’t you know I just wanted to get you to notice me?”

Duff looks at Saul in disbelief. “No, Saul, no I did not. I never thought that a man at the age of twenty-four would excuse years of bullying as pigtail pulling to get me to accept his stupid, sadistic, school-buy crush.” He pushes Saul’s hand off of him. “I can’t even begin to think of how you rationalized this to yourself.”

“Well, if you forgot, we did sleep together.” Saul sneers at Duff. “You sure weren’t complainin’ then, were you?”

Duff snorts. “That was three years ago. Three! And yeah, I’ll admit it.” He looks Saul up and down, making a show of the action. “You’re hot, Hudson. I find you physically attractive. But do not mistake that for romantic affection, or feelings, or a sign that it could be anything more than that. Because it couldn’t be. We are not compatible in any way. We never have been and never will be.”

Saul looks on the brink of arguing with Duff, so he presses on, looking Saul straight in the eye as he speaks. “I am sorry for how I handled you asking me out. I should have given you a real answer. And I’m sorry that this might upset you. But there is no chance in hell, heaven, or Earth that I am going on a single date with you, Hudson. That is final.”

Clenching his jaw, Saul looks away. When he turns back to Duff, his voice is soft. “Duffy, come on. Why don’t you just give it a try, once.” He presses against Duff’s front, breath warm against Duff’s neck as he gazes up. “You know we’d be so good together. I’d take you out, treat ya’ real good, show you off to my friends and how pretty you are.”

“Do you even hear yourself talking right now?” It’s taking everything in Duff not to swing at Saul. “Do you really think I’d ever want that?”

“I think you want someone to take care of you. And, Duff,” he traces a finger down Duff’s neck, “I’m successful. I’m going places, baby, we all know it. Let me take care of you, okay? I know just what you need.” And then his lips are on Duff’s, hands traveling around back and dipping low to squeeze, reel Duff into him. Dimly, Duff remembers that the window to the office is open and anyone can see this. Can see Saul treating him like an object, like a pretty little thing to play with. Duff sees red, tastes cigarette ash on Saul’s tongue. His vision blurs and a second later, Duff feels a flash of pain in his hand.

He blinks, taking in the blood dripping down Saul’s nose, the split in his lip. Looking down, he sees the beginnings of bruising on his knuckles. A surge of dark satisfaction swells in Duff as he takes in his handiwork with pride.

“You touch me again,” he says, cold and clear, ice coating every syllable. “I’ll rip your fucking balls off and eat ‘em with Steven on top of Thursday night’s spaghetti.”

Rage washes over Saul’s face, marred with ruby blood. He scowls as he wipes the blood with his hand, smearing it across golden skin. “You’re gonna regret this, McKagan.” His tone turns wistful. “We could’ve done good together. We really coulda done some amazing things.”

“No,” Duff snaps, “you wanted to do the amazing things, and you wanted to fuck me while doing them.”

Saul looks at him, then. A strange expression crosses his features before smoothing out. He smiles, teeth spotted with clotting blood. Duff shivers at the sight, the first feelings of unease spreading in his gut. “Doesn’t matter,” Saul says. He sniffs, the sound clogged and nauseating. “I was gonna let you help me but the plan’s the same I guess.” He sighs, donning a regretful expression but Duff knows better. He watches the cruel glint to Saul’s eyes, the flexing of his fists by his sides.

“What are you talking about?” Duff has never been good at refusing bait. Saul smirks at him, expecting the question.

“Well,” he shrugs, smirk growing wider, mean. “I ran into a cute little redhead today in town. Not by accident, of course. A friend of mine that works down at Rae’s told me she saw you come in, lookin’ for him.” Saul slyly glances up at Duff to make sure he’s paying attention. “Couldn’t understand why until I remembered the festivals coming up. And,” he pauses, “you did tell me about your chance to write a real good hard news article, didn’t ya’?”

Saul fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket, licking the blood from his lip as it wells. “Now, I know you think I’m dumb but I ain’t. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, Blondie.”

Duff struggles to keep his face neutral. His mind is screaming at him as he scrambles to piece together what Saul is saying. “And? You think you’re gonna steal my article, that it? Cause let me tell you, Axl ain’t giving anybody an interview so you might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

Saul grins. “Maybe. Maybe not. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t ask him for an article. I asked him on a date.”

The room tilts, darkens, then rights itself. Duff feels like he’s watching the exchange from afar, mind too preoccupied with the thought of Saul and Axl, his Axl, going out. Of Saul touching Axl, kissing him like he’d just kissed Duff. The thought nearly has Duff back across the room to finish beating the shit out of Saul.

“And? What’s that gonna do?”

“On its own,” Saul chuckles. “Not much. But see, I get the feelin’ little Axl’s a real lonely kind of guy. Fuckin’ starved for affection, even scraps.” He frowns, mocking. “Poor baby. See, people like that, ya’ don’t gotta ask them. You just smile real nice, tell them what they want to hear, and pretty soon they’re tellin’ me everything I need all because they want to.” Saul bites his lip, digging his teeth into the cut as he tries not to laugh, the fucking sicko, at the notion of tricking Axl into admitting his secrets. “I think he’ll be pretty easy, Duffy, not gonna lie. You shoulda seen his face when I asked him, those sweet eyes all hopeful and shit.” He smiles at Duff, a wicked sliver of a smile, edges cutting. “I definitely won’t pass up fuckin’ him before I get what I want." 

“You motherfucker, you won’t.” Duff has never been this livid in his life. Of course Saul would. Of course, and of course Axl, ignored by everyone, would agree. Say yes to Saul, not thinking twice.

“You go near him again; you even think about touching him”-

“And what?” Saul raises an eyebrow, waits for Duff to answer. When Duff can’t find a threat quick enough, he scoffs. “I brought you up to him. Funniest thing, but from what he said there isn’t a thing you can say to turn him against me. He won’t believe anything you tell him. Trust me on that.” 

Duff can see Saul relish the defeated look on his face as he backs towards the door. He salutes Duff, tipping his head in nasty amusement as he kicks the door open. “Catch ya’ on the flip side, Blondie.” And then he’s sauntering off, victorious.

Duff stares at the door, stunned. Then his body is moving, flinging himself back to his desk as he grabs at the phone, dialing his number with unsteady hands. Axl picks up immediately.

“Hey, babydoll. Or Duff. Should probably call ya’ by your name, now that I know it thanks to this handy souvenir you left me but I’m a man of habit, what can I say.” His tone is smooth, amused per the usual as he addresses Duff. All Duff can think of, though, is Axl talking to Saul in the same manner. Axl laughing with Saul, calling him pet names as Saul gleefully encourages Axl to trust him. 

“You cannot go on that date with Saul.”

Axl’s quiet. Duff can still hear his steady breathing so at least he hasn’t hung up, and then, “How did you hear about that, I wonder?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Duff hears Axl huff, nearly smiles at the image of Axl sitting somewhere, frowning and pouting at Duff evading the question. “Just promise me you won’t go.”

“Why should I do that?” Axl sounds curious, as if he genuinely wants Duff to answer him.

“Because he isn’t good for you.” Duff tugs at the end of his hair, willing Axl to believe him.

“You are?” That’s asked so softly Duff almost misses it. He swallows hard, presses the phone closer to his ear so as not to miss a word Axl says.

“No,” he replies, voice thick. “I hurt you, I know. But Ax”-

“Do you really?” And Axl sounds angry now. Furious, even. “McKagan, you’re a fucking idiot and you wouldn’t know shit if it hit you upside the head.” That’s fair, Duff supposes. Axl has every right to be mad at him.

“I know,” he says. “I know. But, please, Axl, if you’d just”-

“No.” Duff’s mouth clicks shut. “No, I’m done listening to you. Giving you chances I’m startin’ to think you don’t deserve. Izzy was right, you ain’t worth the time.”

Axl,” he pleads. 

“I gotta go, babydoll.” The line goes dead.

Duff holds the phone to his ear, replaying the conversation, trying to understand what he could’ve done to make Axl believe him. But it doesn’t matter, because Axl chose Saul. And there’s nothing Duff can do about that.

Bullshit.

There’s no way Duff is letting that date slide. He slams the phone back on the receiver, thinking. There’s only so many places someone can go on a date in this town and Duff will be damned if he doesn’t find the exact one Saul is taking Axl to. 

He’s got work to do.


	6. Clumsy Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In short, a dynamic duo sabotage a date and Duff finally receives his own bunch of roses._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is taken from e.e. cummings, "A bouquet of clumsy words".

Tracking down Izzy Stradlin’s number isn’t exceptionally hard to do with Nikki on his side. By the next morning, the digits are his, scrawled on a coffee stained napkin tucked away in Duff’s coat pocket.

He dials the number at work, eyes glued to Saul sashaying around the office with a self-satisfied smirk. His hand tightens around the neck of the phone, imagining it to be Saul’s throat.

Izzy answers at the last possible second and Duff thinks the other man had most likely been debating on whether to send him to voicemail.

“I don’t want no shit you’re sellin’ buddy, so you can fuck right off with that.”

Good to know Izzy is this pleasant at all times and Duff hadn’t been a special case. “Izzy? Hey, it’s Duff McKagan, we met the other”- Izzy hangs up on him without another word.

Duff bites his tongue. He’d figured convincing Izzy to help him break up this date would be damn near impossible, considering he had just broken into his best friend’s home and destroyed any shred of leniency Izzy had shown Duff when they’d met. Which hadn’t been much. Still, Duff will be damned if he doesn’t try his hardest to get Izzy on board. He has a feeling the other man has a knack for ruining other people’s evenings, might even take a special shine to this mission in particular. He dials again.

Izzy doesn’t pick up this time, sends Duff straight to voicemail which is just an automated message. Duff calls another time. If Izzy wants to wait him out, Duff will just have to prove himself far stubborner than Izzy.

Six calls later, Duff is gritting his teeth in sheer hair-pulling frustration. Nine more and he’s near tears, sniffling on the end of the line. Around the twenty-seventh call, Duff decides to have a little fun with it. He begins leaving voicemails, long railing ones peppered with foreign accents done in horrible taste. Short ones of unrequited love haikus directed towards Izzy from numerous brands of shampoo. Snippets of songs taken from brainless morning cartoon shows he’d watched as a kid when nothing better was on. He’s starting to laugh at his own work, giggling as he dials Izzy’s number again, preparing to launch into a recitation of the Emancipation Proclamation.

Izzy answers with a vicious growl this time, and Duff knows he’s been listening to the voicemails, progressively becoming more pissed off.

“What,” He seethes, voice crackling with rage.

“Hey, it’s Dizzy Izzy,” Duff singsongs. A snapping noise echoes from Izzy’s end and Duff snorts. “So glad you could join me. Need you to listen to me for a second, if that’s not too much of a bother.”

“Oh, it’s a bother alright.” Izzy is spitting the words out. He sounds like he might be pacing. Duff holds in laughter at the disgruntled image.

“I’ll make it real quick, I swear.” Izzy huffs in annoyance. A pause, Izzy thinking it over. 

“Fine. But this better be good, McKagan or I swear”-

“Yeah, yeah,” Duff intones, waving a free hand in the air. “Skip the threats, Donnie Darko. This is important.”

“Wonder how I coulda missed that what with the fifty fuckin’ three missed calls ya’ left me you piece of total shit.”

Duff takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he can deal with Izzy if it’s for Axl’s sake. “It’s about Axl, okay?”

Dead silence rings through for a split second. Then, “Keep talkin’ and fast.”

“You know he’s going on a date soon, right?” There’s no way Izzy doesn’t know with how him and Axl are glued at each other’s hip at all times.

Izzy hums in response. Duff takes that as a yes, and continues speaking. “I need you to help me break it up.” 

A muffled choking rings out into Duff’s ear, which he quickly realizes is Izzy laughing his ass off at the request. “Bitch,” Izzy manages to gasp out. “I wouldn’t help you if I had stage four brain cancer and you had the cure.”

Duff expected that response. “Would you change your mind if I told you who the guy was that asked Axl out?” That’s a gamble. There’s a good chance Izzy already knows and while not approving, isn’t keen on telling Axl what to do. Judging off of Izzy’s reaction to Duff and his journalism background, though, he can guess Izzy wouldn’t be thrilled with Axl jumping on the Saul bandwagon. Particularly after the last fiasco Axl has experienced at the hands of Duff. No, he’s willing to bet Axl’s said nothing about it to Izzy other than the bare minimum. 

Izzy abruptly stops laughing, further cementing Duff’s theory. “Interesting,” He drawls out. “Now, just for curiosity’s sake, understand, what would I be gettin’ outta this, Blondie?”

Duff thinks about what he could possibly offer Izzy that would capture the other man’s interest and cooperation. He draws blank except for one option. “Well,” He starts, sighing. “I’ll let you kick my ass.”

“Huh.” Izzy clicks his tongue, thoughtfully. “You think I can’t already do that if I want?”

Fair point. “I’ll let you kick my ass and won’t report it to the police.”

“I ask again, you think I can’t beat your ass and get away with it?”

Duff can hear the smirk in Izzy’s voice, wishes he could reach through the phone and throttle him. “Fine.” Duff grits his teeth and forces the words out. “I’ll let you beat my ass while wearing a dress.” He slumps in defeat. “And I’ll let you film it to upload wherever you want. Happy?”

Depends,” Izzy replies. “Will you wear a bonnet too?”

“Oh fuck off,” Duff snaps. “Fine, yes, I’ll wear whatever the hell you want me to wear as long as you’ll help me out.”

“You’ve caught my interest. So go on, and tell me exactly why I should betray my best friend in helpin’ you.”

He chooses his next words carefully, aware that the wrong move will push Izzy further away where Duff can’t win him back. “The guy who asked him out is Saul Hudson.”

A hissed escape of air slips out of Izzy’s mouth. “That’s a fuckin’ joke, right?”

Duff clutches the phone tighter, lowers his voice and head as he speaks. “I wish it was. He came in here to work yesterday bragging about it. About...” Duff can’t force himself to say it. “Other things.”

A sound not unlike a provoked bear growling scrapes out of Izzy’s throat. “Motherfucker, I’ll fuckin kill him." 

“I know,” Duff rolls his eyes. “Trust me I know, so instead of skipping to premeditated murder how about we try my way first.” 

There’s a pause. “Why?” Izzy’s voice is cool, almost monotonous now. “Why should I trust you after what you did?”

“You can’t.” Duff winces but it’s true. “I did shit to Axl I can’t apologize for but I want to start making it right, I promise. I know that might not mean much to you but Izzy I don’t want him hurt like this, like how Saul is planning to do.”

“You’re actin’ like Axl can’t fend for himself. He ain’t stupid, Blondie.” 

Duff shakes his head, blond hair scattering. “I don’t think he’s stupid. I think he’s lonely, and sad, and wants to be seen. And I think Saul is really good at pretending he can.”

Duff can hear the gears turning in Izzy’s head, hear him deciding on the course of action to take. Duff crosses his fingers and hopes for the best.

“Okay,” And Duff sinks into his chair, limp in relief. “I’ll help. We’ll break up this little date and whatever. But I swear, Blondie,” Izzy’s voice turns dark, “I get even a hint that you’re doing this for anything other than helping Axl, you’ll wish you were never born.”

“Real threatening, Izz.” Duff scrubs at his face, tired. “So I’m guessing you know when the date is?” 

“Tonight, around seven,” Izzy answers, smooth.

“You know where at?”

“Nah, but I can find out later.”

“Sounds great.” Duff glances up at Saul, catches his eye. Saul winks at him, grinning. Duff scowls and turns away. “Meet at my place around six thirty then. My address is”-

“Oh, I know where you live,” Izzy says, promptly hanging up. Duff tries not to be too terrified at that thought.

 

                                                                                              ---------------

 

“And you don’t think anything could go wrong with this?" 

Duff pulls at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, avoiding Steven’s judging eyes as he stuffs his wallet and keys in a backpack.

“I’m aware my plans have a way of going off track,” he admits. 

“That’s an understatement, Duff!” Steven stomps in front of him, forcing Duff’s attention and acknowledgment. Steven is steaming mad, tapping his foot on the grimy carpet of their apartment and scowling for all he’s worth. 

“Last time you came up with a master plan it involved breaking the law! And you got caught!”

“Not by the police.” Wrong thing to say apparently because Steven turns varying shades of red, followed by a bruised purple. For a moment, Duff thinks he’s killed Steven from the force of the exasperation he’s caused.

Steven holds his hands up, palms facing Duff as if he’s warding his insanity away. “You know what? Fine. You win, Duff. Just…be careful, okay? Don’t make more of a dumb-ass out of yourself than you already have, man.” Steven grabs his keys, hooking an arm through his heavy wool coat while moving towards the apartment door.

“Hang on.” Duff scrunches his forehead in confusion. “Where are you going this late at night?

Steven pulls his gloves on using his teeth. His hands are in front of his face but Duff can still make out the creeping blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “It’s not late, dude, it’s not even seven yet.”

Duff narrows his eyes, moving closer to Steven. He adores moments like these when his height gives him an intimidating interrogation factor. “Yeah, and normally that means you’re drooling over a bowl of Cheerios and watching Sesame Street re-runs cause you had a weird, abnormal childhood crush on Elmo. So, I ask again. Where ya’ goin’, Stevie?”

Angling towards Duff and looking like he might bolt in any second, Steven blinks innocently, once, before smiling and tossing out, “On a date with Nikki. We’re gonna fuck, so don’t wait up for me.” And then the bastard runs for the door before Duff can pick his jaw up from where it’s shattered on the floor. Flinging the door open, Steven squeezes past Izzy, standing with his hand poised to knock.

“Have fun,” he yells over his shoulder at Duff as he flees. Izzy watches him go before turning to Duff and quirking a single, dark eyebrow.

“He’s going on a date with Nikki,” Duff manages, clutching his stomach as rapid images of his two best friends doing the horizontal tango bombard his poor brain.

Izzy’s face spasms in a watered down version of discomfort. “That sounds…” He grimaces, twitching in a full body shudder.

Duff pushes the thought of Steven seducing Nikki from his mind, well and truly done with the notion of entertaining that Steven could possess sex appeal outside of resembling a dumbed down Farrah Fawcett. He grabs his own set of keys, heading towards the door. Izzy stops him with a hand to Duff’s chest. 

“Look,” he starts, Duff’s reflection swimming in the darkness of his glasses. “I just want to say, I don’t like you.”

“Gee, thanks. I couldn’t tell, Izz,” Duff deadpans.

“I mean I really don’t like you. I knew from the moment I saw you with those beady little eyes scannin’ Ax like a free meal at a buffet you weren’t nothing but trouble. I was right, by the way.”

“Your point?” Duff keeps his tone even, still conscious of the fact Izzy carries a hunting knife and is less than a foot away from his vulnerable arteries.

Izzy runs a hand down Duff’s front. The motion from anyone else could be interpreted as a come-on; from Izzy it looks like he’s thinking of the easiest way to cut Duff’s chest open and harvest his organs for black market selling.

“I just wanna be real clear that I’m here for Axl. Not because I like the idea of you gettin’ back in his good graces but cause I don’t want him manipulated by some half-baked shit-show. Got it?”

Duff does get it. And while Izzy can annoy and pester him, even insult him, there’s a small part of Duff which can’t help but feel immense gratitude for the guy that’s always on Axl’s side. “Yeah Izz,” he says. “I got you, crystal clear.”

“Good.” Izzy stands away, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans like Duff’s got a contagious disease he can’t risk catching. “They’re gonna be at the Breezeday.”

“Seriously?” The Breezeday is the nicest restaurant the town of Temperance has to offer. If there’s an anniversary, graduation, birthday, or any other event of significant importance celebrated within town limits, it takes place there. Duff has been a handful of times, though most memorably with Steven. They’d pretended it was both of their birthday’s and shared the free desserts given out after the embarrassing staff singing.

“Yep.” Izzy follows him to his car, sliding into the passenger’s seat like a shadow in the night. “Told Ax it was a tad fancy for a first date with no strings attached, and he bout killed me tossin’ that lamp across the room.”

“He always seems so calm when he’s mad,” Duff wonders aloud, sliding the key into the car’s ignition. The soft rumble of the engine starts up and Duff wastes no time turning the heat high.

Izzy scoffs. “To you, maybe. Behind closed doors he’s a regular little whirlwind.”

Duff frowns, eyes glued on the road as he eases his car onto the wet roads. “He angry a lot, then?”

Izzy stares out the window, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Not as much as he could be,” he answers finally. He drums a spidery hand on the door handle, pale in the dusk stricken sky. Duff watches out of the corner of his eye as he rolls his neck, seemingly shrugging something off before turning to face Duff again.

“So, you all excited to get this show on the road, babydoll?”

“Don’t call me that!” The words come out harsher than Duff intends but Izzy’s mocking tone around the pet name Axl calls him rubbed him entirely the wrong way. 

“Didn’t know I had to get a club pass.” Izzy is smirking at him, watching Duff’s reaction. Embarrassment stings Duff’s cheeks as he flushes, making Izzy’s smirk deepen as his eyes scans Duff knowingly. Is he really that transparent?

He clears his throat, hoping to turn the conversation and Izzy’s focus to another topic. “What are we gonna do to break this up?”

Izzy watches him a second more then leans over, long fingers twirling the radio knob until settling on a classic rock channel. The comforting, nostalgic sound of Aerosmith fizzles through Duff’s shitty speakers, warm air pooling around them.

“Don’t know. Go and observe I guess. Then figure it out.” He shrugs.

Winging it, it is then. The rest of the short ride is silent, various bands from decades past wailing out over the radio as he drives. When he finally pulls into the Breezeday parking lot, the clock is hitting seven-fifteen and Duff has never been more ecstatic to reach a destination.

Turning the car off, Duff lets the remaining hot air seep into his skin, relishing in it before he has to exit the car. Checking the parking lot, he spots Saul’s pristine sports car, cherry red, paint job shining in the moonlight. Briefly, he considers keying it—marring that perfect exterior. Judging by the murderous look on Izzy’s face once he spots the car that carted Axl off, he’s thinking similar thoughts.

“Come on,” he nudges Izzy as gently as possible. Duff doesn’t have a death wish, after all.

Grumbling under his breath, Izzy hops out of Duff’s car, ambling towards the front of the restaurant. Duff is quick to hurry after Izzy. They both are obviously itching to get this over with and to get Axl away from Saul as soon as possible.

“Think we might be a little underdressed, Blondie,” Izzy murmurs. The two of them enter the restaurant, standing off to the side of the seating podium as they attempt to stick to the darker corners. No use in cluing Axl and Saul in on them both showing up. Speaking of, Duff takes in the dining room, searching for a flash of copper hair under the tastefully dim lights. The whole place screams romance, fancy white tablecloths and chandeliers sporting diamonds the size of Duff’s fist. He imagines Axl under the glistening flashes of crystal, laughing at a joke Saul tells him.

“Woah, woah, take it easy there.” Izzy pulls the viewing menu from Duff’s hands that he had unconsciously started shredding.

“Sorry.” He catches a glimpse of red from the corner of his eye, turns, and there Axl is. He’s got a polite smile plastered on his face, nodding at whatever Saul is spouting off about. The bored air surrounding him is impossible to miss or ignore. Duff wonders if Saul is so far up his own ass he can’t even recognize that he’s putting his date to sleep. Wordlessly, he tugs on Izzy’s sleeve, pointing at the table.

“Ax looks a second away from drownin’ himself in the water pitcher.” Duff laughs, Izzy joining in softly while they watch Axl’s eyes droop close. His hand falls out from under him and he jerks awake, nervously laughing as he nods harder at Saul’s monologue. 

“You’ve never been victim to a Saul Soliloquy. Trust me, they’re never-ending.”

 Izzy hums in agreement, shifting closer to whisper in Duff’s ear. “What do you wanna do? This is your idea, your call.”

Duff mulls it over. He hasn’t done Axl any favors these past few days. The tally against his actions are high, setting the bar for forgiveness towards his transgressions to a great amount. While he could easily tell Izzy they should make a scene, embarrass Axl and ruin the night in order to stop the date, it doesn’t sit right with Duff. He wants Saul away from Axl, that’s all, and he doesn’t need to insert himself more than absolutely necessary. Or speak, seeing as Duff causes most of his own problems doing just that.

“I don’t want to humiliate him. No getting a table near them or pretending to be a waiter, not even messing with their food in the kitchen to send Saul to the nearest bathroom for five hours.”

“Were those all options?” Izzy tilts his head, regarding Duff with a tiny smile. “Cause that last one held promise, I’ll give ya’ that, Blondie.”

Duff purses his lips. “Let’s just interrupt without them seeing us.” He turns away from Izzy for a moment, watching Axl in his black jacket pick at a slimy appetizer he appears disgusted by. “I think it could be best if we do something simple, like”- He turns back, only to be greeted by empty space. Frowning, Duff looks to the side. There is Izzy, balancing on top of the table holding mints and toothpicks by the front door, shirt rising up as he reaches toward the sprinkler. A second too late, Duff realizes exactly what he intends to do when the lighter flicks to life.

It doesn’t take long. Water bursts out from the fixtures, spreading across the entire restaurant as the smoke detector is triggered. In the background, multiple voices are shouting, no doubt at Izzy and Duff, moving closer at a rapid speed. Izzy stretches down from the table, a lazy grace painting his movements, landing on his feet and pocketing the lighter. He flashes a wicked grin at Duff, black hair plastered to his pallid skin.

“I suggest you start runnin’, McKagan.” Duff listens. They both sprint for the front door, bursting into the cold night made worse by their wet clothing. Duff throws himself into the car, engine sputtering to life as he guns it out of the parking lot, driving over the curb and uprooting a flower bed in the process. Izzy is howling with laughter, shaking and shivering in Duff’s seat. Duff hits the heat again.

A ping sounds throughout the car. Izzy shifts, pulling his phone out from inside the folds of his coat. The screen clicks on, sterile light flashing.

“Look what we have here.” Izzy turns the screen to Duff despite the fact Duff is driving and is not able to turn and see. “Guess who just texted and asked for a ride home from his date?”

“Pity it ended so early,” Duff remarks, dry. That sends Izzy into another fit of laughter, Duff giggling along with him. Izzy isn’t so bad, he supposes.

 

                                                                                                  ---------------

 

A knock sounds on the door later that night, an hour or so after Izzy had left in a far better mood than he’d arrived in. Duff thinks he might’ve made progress in moving from Izzy’s least favorite person to his second least favorite person, which isn’t much to go on but Duff will take it.

Stumbling out of bed, Duff heads for the door, cursing Steven and his inconvenient date with Nikki that is pulling Duff away from sleep. It isn’t unlike Steven to forget he has his keys when drunk, instead whining for Duff to let him in and help him to bed. Running his hands through the mess of blond hair that’s managed to tangle with only an hour in bed, Duff throws open the door, ready to eviscerate Steven with some well-chosen words that consist of four letters.

Axl stands there in his beaten denim jacket which can’t be providing much relief from the bitter cold of the night. His cheeks and nose are flushed pink, adorably so, lips dry from the gusts of wind. His teeth are chattering, Duff can hear them, and snow is sticking to strands of red. Without thinking, Duff pulls Axl in, hands moving across his arms in an attempt to warm. Dampness from the snow has sunk into the fabric of his jacket, turning Duff’s hands chilly.

“You need to lose the jacket.” His lips twist down as he studies Axl’s clothes, all of which are damp and thin. Did he walk here? “Probably everything else, if you, ya’ know, want to keep your extremities.”

Axl’s eyes are silver in this lighting, half-lidded from the sudden change in temperature. He’s not shaking anymore but his arms are still wrapped around his torso so Duff is willing to bet he’s pretty damn cold.

“Trying to undress me already, McKagan?” Duff is disappointed with the lack of pet name. He quickly gets a grip, mentally berating himself for being so stupid. Then he remembers that he’s supposed to be answering Axl, not having a silent discussion with his own insecurities.

“Yes.” Dammit. “No. No, I’m just trying to prevent frostbite. And pneumonia. Real nasty stuff, I got it once and the amount of phlegm was just astounding, really”- Axl places a hand over Duff’s mouth, nose scrunched up in disgust. Duff supposes someone had to do it, thankful Axl got the memo quicker than most people in his life and shut him up.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love to hear you talk but maybe ease up a little on the bodily fluids?” Axl smiles, sudden and sweet, pressing closer to Duff, hand lowering to cradle his cheek tenderly. “Unless we’re talkin’ other bodily fluids, then I’m all ears,” he whispers, eyes sparkling with mischief, oblivious to the turmoil he’s tossed Duff’s mind into.

“Oh.” Duff wants to step outside of his own body and scream at himself, he really does. He cannot screw this up, not this time. “Can I ask why you’re here?” Not what he was aiming for but at least he’s speaking in coherent sentences.

“My date with Saul ended on a sour note.” Axl’s hand is still cupping Duff’s face but his thumb is now sweeping up and down his cheekbone, stopping near the corner of his lips. Duff’s heart is pounding, legs seconds from giving out. He forces himself to focus.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, face heating under Axl’s touch. Without much thought, Duff raises his own hand, places it over Axl’s. It feels right.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t happy, McKagan.” Axl tosses his head to the side, sending his hair flying. “I know you and Izzy broke it up. I’m not dumb.”

“I don’t think you are.” It doesn’t occur to Duff to deny tampering with his date. Truthfully, honesty seems the best policy to have with Axl now and if he’s upset about the date, then he has every right to tell Duff off.

Instead, Axl looks amused. His mouth is halfway to a smile, eyes fond as he continues holding Duff to him, cradling him like something precious. “No, but you think I can’t take care of myself.”

“Saul wanted”-

“I know.” Duff snaps his mouth closed. Axl is calm, voice even as he speaks. “I knew as soon as he asked. He isn’t the type to go for someone like me without a reason. Free food is free food, though.”

“That’s because you’re so far out of his fucking league,” Duff snaps, hackles rising. Saul shouldn’t be able to kiss the ground Axl walks on, much less date him. The urge to run Saul over with a freight train increases tenfold.

“It’s sweet of you, to want to try and protect me.” Axl’s eyes harden, face gone steely. “But I don’t need babying, Duff. I’m not some damsel that needs you or Izzy to follow me around in case I get hurt, okay?” 

He’s right. Axl isn’t fragile or incapable of taking care of himself. Duff has to remember that, it’s only fair. He nods, holding Axl’s scrutiny, careful to keep his face open. 

Axl must find what he’s looking for because his face softens again, hands sliding down Duff’s face in a reluctant show of letting go. “I didn’t come to say that though.” His hands slip into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a flash of metal. Duff’s phone is placed into his outstretched palm. Axl’s touch lingers for a minute before pulling away.

Duff feels oddly weighed down with emotions. Axl didn’t have to make this gesture towards him. Duff has done nothing to truly make up for his earlier actions; however, he’s beginning to think that with Axl, he might not be required to. He’s somehow been forgiven.

“Thank you.” The words are raw, Duff’s voice quiet.

 Axl rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it.” He shuffles in place, arms coming to wrap around himself again. “I should get going. It’s late and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

“Stay.” Duff speaks without a thought, the impulse to keep Axl near overwhelming. 

“I mean,” he continues, “You don’t have to stay to like do anything, that wasn’t what I meant, just like you can have the couch or whatever. It’s real cold outside and you might die out there. I can get a change of clothes, a blanket, it’ll be like a sleepover but not really since we aren’t twelve and I never wanted to hold hands with any of my friends from grade school.” He sucks in air, replaying the awkward babbling he’d just been doing and deciding he’s cutting out his tongue first chance he gets.

Axl chuckles. His voice is deep and welcoming, eyes peering at Duff from under ginger lashes as he asks, “You sure?”

“Yes.” He blushes hard at the picture of Axl staying over, Axl in his bed. Not that any of that is happening tonight but the image won’t go away, made stronger by the presence of real life Axl who looks like Duff’s best daydream come to life.

“I’ll just grab that.” He scurries off like the coward he is, grabbing at a blanket and whatever spare pajamas he has that won’t make him look like a tool. Rushing back out, Duff nearly has a heart-attack at the sight of Axl sprawled on his couch, looking very much at home. His cowboy boots are kicked off onto the floor, jacket hanging on the arm of the couch to dry. He looks content as he eyes Duff and the mound of fabric in his arms.

“Here.” Duff won’t press his luck attempting to say anything else. He hands the items off to Axl, relieved to have that intense focus turned elsewhere. Until Axl begins stripping in front of him, shirt pulled up and off to reveal an expanse of smooth, pale skin dotted with freckles like tiny constellations. Duff swallows against the sudden dryness in his mouth, jerking his head away. He studies the wall, wanting to disappear when he hears Axl’s rumbling laughter at his obviously flustered state.

“How do I look?” Duff turns at the sound of Axl’s voice, immediately wishing he’d braced himself first. Turns out the only thing better than regular Axl, or Axl undressing, is Axl wearing Duff’s clothes. The sleeves are too long, rolled up around his wrists to avoid swallowing Axl’s hands completely. Duff’s pants aren’t any better, pooling around Axl’s feet in an excess of cotton. Duff wants to hold Axl and never let go.

“Real good, Ax,” he hears himself replying, mind far gone and studying the details of Axl’s exposed collarbone peeking out from the collar of Duff’s shirt. “You always are beautiful.”

“No need to get cheesy on me,” Axl shoots back, but his eyes betray him, wide with surprise like he can’t believe anyone might find him genuinely lovely. Duff studies him, the purposefully nonchalant way he’s standing, confident with practice not ease. He’s certain, in that moment, no one has ever said that to Axl before without there being a catch. It fills him with sadness, anger on Axl’s behalf even though he’s just promised to treat Axl like the adult he is. And he will. He also can make sure Axl knows exactly what Duff thinks of him.

“It’s true.” Duff crosses the room, hands winding around Axl’s waist, gentle as can be. He’s not trying to prove a point, pull Axl in. He wants to ground him.

“What is, babydoll?” Axl appears breathless, waiting for Duff to speak.

He rests his head against Axl’s, foreheads touching. Duff winds his hands into Axl’s hair, tucks some behind his ears, keeps the rest wound around his fingers. Times like this, Duff wishes he were someone else, someone better with words. A person who could find the exact right thing to say to Axl, everything he needs to hear. Everything he deserves. But Duff isn’t good with words, can’t string a meaningful sentence together to save his miserable life. Telling Axl isn’t easy for Duff—the words elude him.

Duff can show him.

He fits his lips against Axl’s, tender, light as rose petals, more a caress than anything. The angle is wrong, height difference making it a bit wonky, hard to meet in the middle. They don’t fit together like the love interests do in the stories. But Axl melts against him, a startled gasp escaping to brush against Duff’s mouth. He pulls away, Axl’s taste a ghost upon his lips, an impression like rain against tin roofs, that feeling when the body echoes what it remembers, what it knows.

Axl doesn’t chase after him. Duff doesn’t speak, though words are finally there. But they aren’t appropriate, or so he’s been told. They’re intense, meant for a specified time and place, months of set emotion wrapped into a pretty package. Not meant for him to say to Axl, at least not yet. Duff tucks them deep inside, anyway, saves this moment like a snapshot in his mind.

“Goodnight, Axl.” He’d like to think Axl knows what he really means.

Axl’s face unfolds, beaming at Duff in the middle of his shithole apartment like he’s placed the stars in the sky. “Goodnight, Duff.” 

That night, in bed, Duff tosses and turns, aware of Axl a room away. He wants to go to him, call out for Axl to join him. Sleep takes him before he can decide to do either. Dreams of castles tucked away behind thorns circle in his head.

In the morning, Duff walks out to an empty apartment. His clothes are folded on top of the blanket set on a vacant couch. Resting on his counter is a bouquet of roses, wrapped in paper towel. They’re fully blossomed, luxurious in shades of pink, red, orange, and yellow.

Duff can’t help but smile.


	7. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Here, there's a show of trust while Duff counts down the days he's got left to make this article work._

The days following the Rose Incident, as Duff has taken to calling it, are characterized by moments spent with Axl. Ten days left until his deadline; ten days before Duff blows his final chance from Newton to prove himself worthy of the hard news team. He can’t find the strength to care.

Day Ten is spent in the forest on the edge of town, a wide expanse of pine and spruce that stretches for miles on end, seemingly infinite. The branches are bare, thin layers of frost coating the limbs of the trees, hanging icicles glittering in the cloudy afternoon. Axl loves forests, Duff discovers. They wander for hours in the subdued light, head tilted back to sniff at the crisp air, scent of damp earth mingling with pine sap. At one point, Axl climbs a tree with easy grace, his long limbs carefully selecting the best branches to grab onto, traveling further away from the ground until Duff has to squint to see him. He tosses scraps of bark down at Duff’s head, distant laughter sending flocks of crows flying from a nearby perch.

Day Nine finds Duff at Rae’s, a selection of nine different beverages spread out across the cluttered wooden tabletop. Debating for an hour on the superiority of mint hot chocolate to butterscotch, the score is settled over three rounds of rock-paper-scissors. Axl wins, mainly because he cheats and changes his hand at the last second. They take shots of coffee creamer, mix it with soda to create “homemade” floats. 

Day Eight consists of the two of them terrorizing the town library, skipping between aisles to find the cheesiest book titles possible and read them in French accents between lewd commentary. Seven, Duff takes Axl to the field south of Temperance, a flat expanse of soft green grass perfect for star-gazing in near silence, the closest noise the rumble of faraway car engines. On Day Six, Duff spends an afternoon with Izzy and Axl on their front porch, watching the sunset and drinking cheap beer. Between those moments, there are a thousand more overlapping: movie marathons, text messages, breakfast dates, time in the car listening to music with the windows down. It’s screen-grabs from indie movies, a supercut of the beginning of any relationship except there isn’t a technical relationship defined between them and it’s only been a week.

It’s not perfect by any means. Axl occasionally will stop in the middle of whatever they’re doing, smile fading like he’s remembering something unpleasant. His negatives are shown in extremes; his anger a sight to behold when directed elsewhere, sadness a tide pulling him under. Duff can’t always keep up. He finds new admiration for Izzy every day, watching him handle Axl’s moods. But Duff wonders why it seems that Axl never allows himself to experience happiness in full effect. There’s always distance, always pulling back. They haven’t kissed since the Rose Incident and Duff is afraid to ask why, bring it up. He knows Axl forgiving him so easily was a miracle now, knows he can hold grudges to his chest like a child clutching a favorite toy. Duff doesn’t want to push him away by asking what exactly they’re doing with each other. He’s willing to take what he can get.

Newton emails Duff asking about his article and the progress he’s made. Duff deletes the message, mind already on seeing Axl for the day. 

Stevie leans over his shoulder, reading the texts. “You’ve got it bad, you know that right?”

The flowers Axl gave him lay pressed between the pages of his books, perfuming the air whenever he decides to read. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “I figured that out.”

                                                                                          ------------

“Where were you?” Axl reclines on the stained armchair in Duff’s living room, head tilted towards the door Duff’s just come in through.

“Steven let you in?” He kicks off his shoes, wincing at the apparent hole at the toe of his threadbare sock. Of course he’d be wearing these when Axl dropped in for a surprise visit—visits which are becoming far more frequent.

“Yep,” Axl pops his lips together at the end of the word. His red hair cascades down the side of the chair as he stares up at Duff, unimpressed. “See, McKagan, that’s how you answer a question. Your turn, babydoll.”

Duff fakes a stern expression for all of ten seconds before he’s grinning down at Axl. “Well,” he drawls out, climbing over Axl’s cramped limbs to position himself on top of the glaring redhead. Duff collapses his full weight on Axl, smiling wider when harsh grunts of protest ring out from underneath him. “I was out getting an interview for my hard news article.” 

Axl goes completely still. “Ah.” Duff waits for him to speak again but when no further words come, he sighs, resting his head back on Axl’s shoulder.

“The article that has been dramatically altered from its original topic and content.” From this angle, Duff can’t make out Axl’s face but he feels the body beneath him relax. “Changed the focus and everything. It should be finished sometime tomorrow. Easy stuff.”

Duff holds his breath on Axl’s response. “What’s it about?”

“The usual shit people watch on the news.” He squirms, attempting to get comfortable. Axl’s hands snake around his sides, holding him steady. “Some dangerous gas leak on one half of Temperance causing hospitalization, townies sick and pissed off at the city.” He sighs, eyes drooping shut at the beginning sensation of Axl running a hand through his hair. “Pretty tame compared to Saul’s work but I figured it would do.” 

The two of them don’t speak for a bit after that. Axl continues to stroke Duff’s hair and massage his scalp with one hand, the other anchoring him on the tiny chair. Duff’s begun to fall asleep when Axl breaks the silence.

“Do you regret it?”

“What?” He manages to slur out, mind hazy and filled with cotton as he fights the strong pull of sleep.

“Changing your article? Doing a piece that isn’t…” His voice trails off.

“No.” Duff wiggles until he’s lying on his stomach. Now, he’s able to look Axl in the eye and see exactly what’s going on in that chaotic head. Axl’s eyebrows are drawn together, nose scrunched ever so slightly. His eyes search Duff’s for an answer that Duff hopes is visible in his own gaze.

“No, Ax.” He tucks an errant piece of hair behind Axl’s ear. “I’m not sorry about it. I don’t need to be better than Slash, okay? I want to be on the team, I’ll get on the team. That’s all that matters. But you’re my friend.” Duff swallows the word he wants to use, one with a much less friendly meaning. “You matter more to me than a stupid ass article. And I’m not gonna let you down again.”

Axl tries to sit up, can’t quite manage under Duff’s weight. He sinks back into the chair, eyes narrowed at Duff in indignation. “You did not—”

“I did. I hurt you. I didn’t mean to but it’s not like that helps.” He yawns, shaking his head softly. “You forgiving me like you did was luck on my part. I’m not gambling past a second chance.”

Axl’s fingers press into the small of Duff’s back with light pressure, drumming out a rhythm over his cotton shirt. Duff allows his head to lower and rest on Axl, breath’s mellowing to match the rise and fall of Axl’s chest. 

“I can give you the information you need,” Axl offers, startling Duff out of near sleep once again. “Give you fake details, say whatever shit ya’ need me to say.” Duff isn’t sure what he feels at those words but his lungs constrict for a second as he searches for a response.

“I don’t need you to give me that, Axl. The article isn’t important to me anymore, not like it was.” 

“Why?” 

Duff can’t answer that. He still wants to succeed, wants his work to be noteworthy but selling Axl and Izzy out for gratification is no longer his style. He remains quiet, counts the heartbeats he can hear thrumming through Axl’s skin.

“I can do this for you, Duff.” The words are hushed, whispered in Duff’s ear like a secret. 

He smiles, hand closing around a fistful of Axl’s flannel shirt beneath him. It smells like the forest. “That isn’t what I want from you, Ax.”

“What do you want, babydoll?”

But he’s already gone, sound filtering in through the first grainy layers of slumber.

                                                                                                ------------

At work, Newton commends Duff on a job well done. Three days to spare, and he’s accomplished what he set out to do, albeit in a roundabout way. Still, the piece turned out well-written, informative, and attention-grabbing. Duff would have preferred an original topic to the ordinary one he’d managed to snag but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Great work, McKagan. Shocked to say it, I really am, but you came through.” Newton twirls his smoking pipe in his wrinkled hand, chortling to himself as he peers at the printed version of Duff’s article on the desk. He glances up at Duff from behind his thick glass frames, mouth curling.

“I look forward to seeing if your next contribution to the paper lives up to its predecessor.” The backwards compliment is as close as Newton will probably ever get to admitting he approves of something Duff has done.

“Thanks, boss.” Duff tips his head, backing out of the office before Newton can change his mind and demand Duff rewrite the entire thing. 

He turns around when he’s cleared the door, relieved until he spots Saul slouching against the wall opposite him. He’s got a strange smile on his face as he watches Duff, eyes obscured by the regular combination of hair and sunglasses. 

“Blondie.” He inclines his head, gesture mocking. “Glad to see you’ve reached your full potential.” The derision in Saul’s words is tangible enough Duff can practically see it swirling in the air between them, poison-green.

“Thanks, Hudson.” Duff doesn’t want to fight Saul. He still can’t stand the man, wants to avoid him at all costs but he no longer has the drive to stand and argue with him for the sake of arguing. Part of it is because Duff finally realizes Saul isn’t worth an ounce of his breath, let alone precious time; another part is due to the fact that Duff has better things to do, such as talk to Axl. Which he plans on doing now, if Saul will step aside.

“Of course, McKagan.” He licks his lips. It brings Duff back to the terrible moment when Saul had cornered and kissed him. Duff takes an unconscious step back, eyeing Saul warily. Saul does nothing to warrant a reaction, simply watching Duff with that same odd little smile hanging off his mouth. 

“Hope you and Rose are doing well.” He brushes past Duff without another word.

The way Saul spoke triggers every red flag warning Duff has ever possessed. He almost follows after him, demanding to know what the last comment meant. Almost.

He doesn’t because at that moment his phone lets out a string of vibrating buzzes, turning Duff’s front pocket into a quivering mess. Hastily, he reaches in and pulls the phone out, clicking the screen on. 

The world narrows in on the phone, all noise canceling out as Duff stares at the messages he’s just received. Image after image pops up: letters, text message screen-shots, documents, and contracts. It’s all there for Duff to access, everything he’s ever wanted to know.

Axl has sent him all the evidence Duff could need for an article on the roses.

                                                                                           ------------

Duff waits, sitting on the couch with his eyes glued to his phone screen. He hasn’t opened the messages yet, not a single one. Curiosity niggles in the back of his mind, the voice of unanswered questions whispering with every minute that passes with his phone remaining locked. He can’t do it. It goes against everything Duff has been trying to prove to both Axl and himself in the past week. There is no mystery Duff needs to solve, nothing to look further into or dig around in. Axl’s secrets are exactly that—his own.

He bites his lip hard, pressing his hands beneath his thighs in an attempt to trap them, keep them from making a grab for his cellphone. The enticement of the unknown calls to Duff but he hums over it, snatching out words from random songs to occupy his mind. A knock on the door sounds out and Duff snatches his phone up, relieved. He bolts to the door, flinging it wide open to reveal a bewildered Axl.

Axl looks like he’s been interrupted from sleep and rolled out of bed to hurry over to Duff’s. That might be an accurate guess at what happened, Duff thinks, seeing as he’d called Axl frantically an hour ago—midnight, to be precise—after having panicked away most of his day deliberating over what to do with the messages. He’d spouted out barely decipherable fragments of sentences, the only thing clear being that he needed Axl at his house and soon.

Duff notes that Axl’s boots don’t match; one is a black cowboy boot hitting the knee, while the other looks like an untied combat boot. His hair is fluffed and wild, resembling a member from an eighties hairband after a long gig. The button on his pants is undone, and Duff thinks he might have pulled on Izzy’s shirt before rushing here. Eyes worriedly darting around, Axl peers over Duff’s shoulder into the background of the apartment.

“What’s wrong? I came as soon as I could but I got into an argument with Izz about whether to bring a baseball bat or not.”

“Did you?” Duff gives Axl a quick once-over for any weapons that could potentially be hidden.

Axl frowns, shaking his head. “Nah, told him you just sounded on the verge of a mental breakdown not on the wrong end of an armed robbery.” He cocks his hip out in a strangely disapproving way as he crosses his arms and glowers at Duff. “Where’s Stevie?”

“With Nikki.” That’s been the usual, lately. Duff can’t complain because his friends are ridiculously happy and for once he doesn’t have to worry about washing Steven’s underwear.

Axl’s mouth presses into a tight line. “You didn’t think to call him when you started losing your mind?”

“I’m not losing my mind!” 

“Coulda fooled me, McKagan.” Axl pitches his voice higher, in an attempt to mimic Duff. “Just get over here before I stick my head in the sink and forget to come up for air.” He glares at Duff, tapping his foot on the ground in a way that reminds Duff of a pissed off school teacher. “I nearly had a heart attack with the way you were acting, asshole.”

“Me?” Duff’s voice cracks on the word. He feels like tearing at his hair, promptly furious at the blasé way Axl is acting. Duff has been thrown for a loop, character tested, morality challenged, and he’s trying to stay loyal and prove that he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t want to. And a large part of him is insulted at the implication that he’s only been after Axl’s secret in all the time they’ve started spending together.

“You’ve got no fuckin’ room to talk, Ax, after the shit you pulled today.”

Axl raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway with one shoulder, arms still crossed. His face is blank and he looks effortlessly composed. Duff wants to smack him hard. “What exactly are you talkin’ about, babydoll?”

“Don’t babydoll me,” Duff snaps. He wrenches the phone out of his pocket, shoving it into Axl’s face, so close his nose nearly touches the screen. “What the fuck was that about earlier, huh? Some kinda test? I told you,” he jerks the phone down, stepping closer to Axl until their chests touch, “I don’t want this. Not anymore. And if you really think I do, really think I’m still only after your green-thumb mystery bullshit then fucking say it, Rose. Don’t send me this mind-bender crap to confuse me and see if I take the bait, because I won’t.” 

Axl blinks, once, long and slow, before his mouth twitches and pulls into that infuriating smirk he’s perfected. Duff is seething with rage, hands twitching at his sides from the indignation.

“Duffy,” he purrs, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Go to hell, Axl,” Duff snarls. He’s tightened his fist to the point where the phone, still in his grasp, is beginning to cut into his palm.

Axl studies Duff, smirk in place. “Babydoll, it ever occur to you that maybe I sent you those pictures because I trust you?” He tilts his head up towards Duff. “That I want you to know how I do what I do?”

“No.” How could it when Axl refuses to talk about anything related to his past? “You never bring up the flowers or the Festival, and neither do I. I figured it was just another thing you wanted to ignore.”

“Another thing?” Axl’s voice is level. There’s none of the churning emotions in him that Duff is currently experiencing.

“Yeah, another.” In the back of his head, Duff knows he should calm down. His mouth runs off on him at the best of times and he can’t lose his temper with Axl after the progress they’ve started to make together.

“Care to fill me in? Seems I’m missin’ the obvious here.”

“We kissed,” he yells, the words bouncing and echoing off the walls in the empty hallway. He never has been the best at anger management.

Duff backs away from Axl, afraid he might reach out to touch him, pull him closer. “I kissed you a week ago, Axl,” he finishes. Duff looks anywhere but at the figure in his doorway, arms wrapping around himself as if they can ward off the tension running between them. “I thought you’d bring it up but you never did. Like it never even happened.” Duff snorts, bitter. “Of course, I didn’t either because I’m a coward and I was afraid you’d laugh me out of the room. Still. I wish you would just tell me things instead of,” he gestures towards Axl with the hand holding the phone, “pulling stunts like this.” 

Axl waits to speak, remaining silhouetted in the door frame. His voice drifts over to Duff, tender like he’s speaking to a frightened child. “Duff, I wanted to help. You’ve been there for me and I’m not an easy guy to be there for. You were willing to sacrifice your article for me. Let me do the same for you.”

Duff sees what Axl is attempting to say with his stilted way of conveying feelings. It’s touching, truly, the thought that Axl views Duff as someone he’s willing to sacrifice for. That he wants to give this piece of himself as a truce between them; a symbol of trust, of loyalty, of recognition that Duff is working to rebuild the mess he’d made. But it isn’t what Duff wants. He’s never wanted Axl to feel that he has to prove his forgiveness.

Catching Axl’s gaze, Duff clicks the screen of the phone on. Axl’s shoulders hunch up, tightening along with the expression on his face. He’s bracing himself, certain that Duff is about to read the messages here in front of him. Duff takes great relish in watching his face settle into shock when he hits delete on the first picture. Glancing down at his phone and making sure it’s facing Axl the entire time, Duff deletes every message in quick succession. He doesn’t stop to read a single one. The curiosity from earlier has disappeared, replaced with a final sureness of his actions.

Duff’s mother once told him when he was younger that asking someone to prove their trust, or their loyalty; to expect them to give their patience, or their compassion is, in the end, pointless. Because all of those things are, at their core, simplified versions of love. And love cannot be asked for, cannot be expected, or taken for granted. If it is, then there is no love to begin with. Duff didn’t care for the advice then because he was young and full of teenage angst and thought love equated to tolerance or obsession. He knows better now.

The last message disappears from Duff’s phone. He hands it over to Axl who stares at the screen, transfixed. “I told you, Axl,” he says. “I don’t want that from you.”

“Then what do you want?” Axl looks up at him, face careful like he’s afraid to give away too much. Duff knows that feeling—after all, he’s the king of screwing up, making the situation worse than it needs to be. Life is so much easier when hiding is an option. But he’s tired of waiting for Axl to make the first move, and he’s done with being afraid. 

The look on his face must say exactly what Duff is struggling to find the words for because Axl’s face thaws.  He takes a step into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Duff hears the lock click into place. He waits for the moment seen in the movies where Axl flies towards him in a show of passion, bodies colliding and fitting the way they’re designed to do. Nothing like that happens though, much to Duff’s relief. He isn’t known for his seduction skills, either.

Instead, Axl toes off his shoes, letting the heavy thuds of each mismatched boot ring out in the silence. His sock covered feet slide in hushed static against the greying carpet as he walks to Duff, sure yet timid all at the same time. When he reaches Duff what feels like an eternity later, Axl doesn’t jump straight into the kiss. He reaches up, holds Duff’s face between his warm palms like he had that night of their first kiss. Axl hesitates, then his fingers work into Duff’s hair, pulling him down. Duff holds his breath, a poor decision considering he’s positive Axl is about to kiss him and he doesn’t want to start gasping for air halfway through.

“Close your eyes,” Axl whispers. Duff obeys immediately, eyes slipping shut as Axl’s fingers continue to pull him closer. A brush of lips breezes against Duff’s throat, feather light. Another touches across his eyelid before switching over to the other. Butterfly kisses down the side of Duff’s face, caressing the tip of his nose, teasing around the corners of his mouth. Axl’s eyelashes flutter over his skin as he moves, dozens of tickling grazes sweeping across Duff’s face. 

A hand trails down, plucks the buttons of Duff’s shirt until it hangs open. Axl pushes the fabric from his shoulders, bending to lay a series of tiny kisses and pecks along Duff’s collarbones. His touches are chaste, measured, as he removes his other hand from Duff’s hair to place it on the curve of Duff’s waist. The tips of Axl’s fingernails trace patterns across Duff’s skin, tickling as they glide up his sides, dancing back down to his lower stomach and tracing the sliver of skin just above his jeans.

“Look at me, babydoll,” Duff shivers at the sound of Axl’s voice, opening his eyes. Axl’s face is flushed pink, eyes shining and luminous. His hands haven’t paused in their wandering, pressing down into Duff’s skin, delicately scratching down his back.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Duff stares at Axl’s lips as they move, head already bobbing in agreement. Axl laughs, a small sound that he buries in the crook of Duff’s neck. He’s standing on tip-toe to reach and Duff’s brain dimly comprehends this isn’t acceptable. Without thinking on it, Duff’s arms reach around Axl’s back, lifting him up. Legs wrap around his back, wasting no time, heels digging into the base of his spine. Their foreheads rest together, Duff desperately trying to suck in Axl’s exhales.

When Axl finally kisses him, Duff walks for the bed in a straight line that quickly deteriorates with the pressure of Axl’s lips against his. Axl licks Duff’s lower lip, tongue lapping in tiny, little flicks that make Duff stagger into the nearest wall. Axl giggles right before Duff brings one hand up from around him, grasping Axl’s face in his hands as he kisses him breathless. 

They reach the bed and Duff briefly wishes he’d cleaned his room at some point this week as he steps over discarded clothes. The bed is free of potential laundry, though, so Duff lowers Axl as gently as he can onto the heaps of thick, winter blankets. Axl looks up at him from his sprawled position on the bed, lips swollen red to match his hair spread around his head like a halo. Duff crawls up the bed over him, grinning until a leg hooks around him, flipping Duff onto his back. The breath leaves his lungs and he lays stunned as Axl sidles up his body, smirking smugly. Duff laughs, unable to help himself because of course Axl would have to be on top.

Axl grins down at him, reaching up as he rolls his shirt off in a lazy motion, body rocking on top of Duff. Shirtless, he leans over Duff, reconnecting their mouths as he rolls his hips down into Duff’s, both of their bodies slotting against each other. He feels Axl’s fingers slide up his arm to slip between the spaces of his outstretched hand lying by his head. Duff pants into Axl’s mouth, a curtain of red hair falling around their faces as they move together.

“What do you want, Duff. Tell me what you want,” Axl speaks into his ear, licking up the curve of it and pressing a kiss to Duff’s temple. He moves away but Duff reels him back in close, keeping their faces an inch apart as he takes Axl in.

“Whatever you want, Ax,” he says. “Whatever you’ll give me.” 

“Everything,” Axl promises, digging his nails in Duff’s upper arms, marking him. His mouth is hot against the side of Duff’s face as he murmurs strings of endearments, as he reaches for the buckle on Duff’s jeans.  “I’ll give you everything.”


	8. Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The secret is out. In other words, Axl exposes the mystery surrounding his roses and a surprise visitor comes knocking unannounced._

Duff wakes up the next morning with the cloying scent of roses fresh in the air. Sunlight pours in through the bedroom window, warm as it washes over his face. He burrows deeper into his pillow, reluctant to face the day. Last night had been long, with neither him or Axl receiving much sleep. A groggy smile emerges at the memory. The sex had been fantastic—Duff is positive of that fact, would place his nonexistent life-savings on it. His body is sore and bruised from being man-handled into numerous positions Duff hadn’t been aware he could achieve without a warm-up stretch, lips slightly puffy from Axl’s kisses; he already knows an array of hickey’s are scattered on his neck and thighs. Duff sighs in contentment, snuggling back into the warm lump behind him where Axl is currently knocked out, snoring like a stalling chainsaw. A pale, freckled arm throws itself around Duff’s waist, uncoordinated with the effects of sleep. Duff decides that waking up is not on the agenda right now and reaches down to pull the comforter over his head. Sharpness pricks the tip of his finger, a spike of pain not unlike a paper-cut that has him drawing his hand back quickly, hissing at the discomfort.

Holding his finger in front of his face, Duff frowns at the droplet of blood swelling from his skin. The red runs down his finger in a tiny rivulet, almost causing him to gag. Duff hates blood, always has ever since Sarah Miller had shown him her sanitary pad on a dare in seventh grade. Duff sticks his finger in his mouth, sucking at the blood as he struggles to sit up and find the offending object that had cut him. He looks at the sheets, eyes still misty with the haze of sleep. 

Duff stares at the bed, uncomprehending. He stares longer. Duff closes his eyes slowly, counts to three, and re-opens them. He tries the same method again, counting to ten instead. When he opens his eyes, Duff decides he must be dreaming. It’s the only way to explain the fact that his bed is covered in thorny, prickly vines which hold nearly a hundred white roses. Interspersed throughout the white are handfuls of scarlet roses, peeking out from mounds of ivory like blood on snow. Duff studies them in awe, head moving as he takes in the trailing vines falling onto the floor, covering his carpet in a sheet of flowers. Petals are strewn everywhere, a hypnotic parody of a honeymoon suite. The buds continue up his headboard, leaves splayed in deep green against the plain beige of his walls. Duff lets his gaze fall on Axl. The roses have grown over his arms, twisted around his wrists like living bracelets, a few nestled in his hair. If Duff weren’t so shocked he’d think it was beautiful, lovely.

“This can’t be fucking real,” he whispers, fingers coming up to pinch at his already bruised skin. His brain leaps to reasonable, logical conclusions: Axl went out and got some of his roses while Duff was asleep and spread them on the bed, Axl is playing a massive prank on Duff and any minute Izzy will round the corner with a video camera, Axl is getting revenge for Duff breaking into his house by driving him insane with some magic trick. But the proof is right in front of him, growing out of his walls and floorboards, sprouting through his mattress—Duff can see the visible roots springing up. There’s no faking this.

A panic attack is coming on, Duff can feel it tickling in the back of his throat, constricting his chest. He focuses on staying calm, breathing in and out as he leans over his bed, attempting to see just how far these roses stretch. Of course, he loses his balance, body flopping over and narrowly missing the patch of bristles sticking out of his floor. Moaning in pain, Duff flops over onto his back, drawing his knees up because he is still naked after all. Wonderful. 

Axl chooses this moment to open his eyes, sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around his stomach. He glows in the morning light, chest bare and hair mussed from a mixture of sleep and sex. His eyes are half-shut and he’s rubbing at them as he yawns wide enough that Duff hears his jaw crack. Adorable is what it is, the best image Duff has ever woken up to. He wishes he could appreciate sleepy, debauched Axl a bit more but unfortunately he’s tucked against the wall, eyes wide as he tries desperately to not start hyperventilating. 

Duff catches the moment Axl comes to, fully realizes what must have happened overnight. His entire body jerks, going completely still. The color leaves Axl’s face, lips white, knuckles clenched around the blankets. He turns his head, scanning, and stops once his eyes lock onto Duff cowering in the corner.

A single white blossom falls from his hair into his lap. Axl blinks down at it, then looks back to Duff. Then he is scrambling across the bed, knees bleeding from the thorns as he slides off the side, crawling the rest of the way until he’s in front of Duff. Axl’s hands pet his face, flutter around him as if he can’t decide if touching is the best course of action to take. Duff makes the choice for him, grabbing onto Axl and pulling him close, pressing into him as he breathes.

“I’m so sorry, babydoll,” Axl is repeating over him, hugging Duff to his chest. “I’m so, so sorry, I swear I didn’t want you to find out this way.” His hands dance in Duff’s hair, twine in blond strands. Duff slumps against him, focusing on the way Axl is chanting his name around apologies. When his breathing finally begins to even out, Duff pulls back, flushing as he takes Axl in.

“You’re kind of naked,” he says, relieved to be speaking while simultaneously dismayed that the first words out of his mouth are about Axl’s birthday suit.

Axl’s mouth twitches. “Yeah, you are too.” The pads of his fingers drag roughly down Duff’s bare sides. “That’s sort of what happens after two people sleep together.” Those blue eyes search Duff as Axl speaks. “Did they hurt you?”

It takes Duff a moment to understand Axl is referring to the roses. “No, I pricked a finger but that’s all.” He catches some of the tension seep out of Axl’s posture at his words. “You’re bleeding everywhere though,” he points out. Blood is running down Axl’s knees from his dash across the roses. Axl grimaces down at the torn skin.

“Won’t be the first or last time,” he admits, shrugging.

“Yeah, well I’ve already got a greenhouse growing in my bedroom, I don’t need blood in the carpet too. My landlord will bitch me out for that one.” Duff rolls his shoulders, standing. He pulls Axl to his feet as well, careful to avoid touching the scratches along his wrists. “Come on, let’s get dressed and I’ll wrap up your battle wounds.” He hooks their fingers together, marveling at how well they fit. “And then, we can talk.”

Axl nods, nervousness creeping back into his expression. He looks like he’s seconds away from puking out of stress.

“It’s okay, Ax,” he adds softly. “Really, I’m okay. I just want to understand is all.” Axl bites his lip, nods again before turning and picking his way around the path of roses. Duff grabs a clean pair of boxers, sliding them on, followed by a t-shirt and sweatpants. The bedroom mirror reveals his hair is currently doing its best impression of a rat’s nest but Duff decides now isn’t the time to worry over his appearance.

He walks to the kitchen, flipping the coffee maker on. The smell of coffee beans roasting settles his anxious stomach and he grabs two mugs for the both of them. Behind him, Duff can hear Axl settling down on the couch. When the coffee is finished brewing, Duff pours the steaming liquid into the cups, leaving both black. He grabs the handles, hesitates, before rummaging into the cupboards and adding a splash of whiskey to both. He opens a drawer to snatch up bandages as well. Grabbing the drinks, Duff approaches Axl who immediately reaches for the mug. His leg is tapping against the floor, fingers scratching and rubbing at his sides as he waits for Duff to sit beside him. 

Duff watches Axl take a sip, eyes lighting up at the taste of alcohol. “Just what I needed.” He smiles at Duff. “Thought maybe a little early.”

“It’s never too early to drink,” Duff replies, winking at Axl. It’s easy to pretend nothing happened. That last night lead into a normal morning with nothing unusual rousing the two from bed to discuss mysterious flower growth over boozy breakfast. It’s nice to know flirting poorly with Axl is still Duff’s priority. 

They sip at their coffee for a handful of minutes, Duff unwilling to break the peaceful silence. When he’s halfway finished, Duff grabs the bandages from the table, moving to cover Axl’s scratches. They aren’t as bad as Duff thought, not nearly as many as the blood had made it appear. He works quietly, only worrying about the upcoming conversation when he’s close to finishing. He’s afraid to interrogate Axl, doesn’t want to push him away or say the wrong thing. There’s no precedent for this, not a single incident Duff can use as reference for how to proceed. He peers at Axl from over the rim of his cup, gauging his mood.

“Duff, just ask,” Axl intones, eyes glued to his mug. “I know you’re dyin’ to find out what the hell’s going on.” Understatement of the century but Duff won’t correct him.

“What exactly—” he hesitates. “The flowers, are those yours?”

“They’ve always been mine,” Axl replies, easily enough despite the fact he seems unable to look Duff in the eye.

“I know but are they yours as in do you grow them?” Axl opens his mouth but Duff cuts him off. “And I don’t need a smart-ass answer about how you’ve always grown them. You know what I mean.” Duff lowers his voice, leaning in. He pretends he doesn’t notice Axl inching away, pressing further into the couch. “Are you causing them to grow like…like some sort of superpower.”

“It’s not a power.” The answer comes fast like a reflex. Axl taps a finger against the ceramic mug, pressing his lips together as he thinks. “I can’t control it, really. Not enough for it to be a gift, a power.”

“What else can you do with it?” Duff is fascinated. Axl is sitting here, admitting to growing plants with his hands like a character come to life out of a comic book.

“Nothing.” Axl tilts his head back, eyes closed. “Just the flowers. Roses, to be specific. I can’t control where they grow; I can control how many, sometimes the color if I focus real hard.”

“How?” There must be a method to this madness, a way for Axl to harness what he does and use it.

Axl groans, throwing his head back far enough that Duff can see the notches in his throat. “Listen, don’t fuckin’ laugh when I say this next part, okay? Cause I know it’s real funny, like some fairytale bullshit or whatever, but I can’t help it.”

Duff makes a sound in the affirmative, staring at Axl in amazement. Axl doesn’t open his eyes, sighing. 

“They grow when I’m happy: ecstatic, thrilled, can’t contain it happy. Like, the kind of happy you get when everything seems perfect, just right, and you feel it hard in your chest like someone’s sitting on top of you.” Axl stops, nostrils flaring as his fingers tighten around the cup. “When I’m furious, or depressed, they wither. Die, instantaneous.” He snorts. “Mind you, the little fuckers usually only last a handful of weeks if there’s only a few, days if they’re grown in bunches. Me getting mad just speeds up the process.”

It all begins to click together. Axl’s calm personality, face carefully blank even when he was irritated, upset, frustrated. Axl drawing back whenever he seemed to be enjoying himself, eyes closing off to Duff. Controlling his emotions, afraid to feel too deeply either way because of what he could do in the depth of his feelings.

“That…” Duff trails off. “That must have been really hard to deal with, growing up.”

“I didn’t.” At Duff’s silence, Axl continues. “I didn’t know I could do this when I was a kid. Never found out till I was eighteen.”

“But how?” Duff frowns. “You think maybe the ability didn’t form until you were older?”

“It’s possible,” Axl concedes. His voice has gone quiet, eyes opening to stare off into the distance. “I don’t think that’s it though. I was never very happy growing up where I did.”

The words are sparse, tone even, Axl’s face in tight control of what he’s feeling inside. But there’s an undercurrent to what he’s saying, reflected in the way his jaw has clenched against whatever other words are attempting to fight their way out. 

“Can you tell me more?” Duff keeps his tone as soft as possible.

“Yeah,” Axl chokes out. He looks like he’s desperately stuffing his emotions down, bottling it away. “I just—” He closes his eyes briefly, inhales hard. “They never loved me.” He meets Duff’s eyes, smirking. There’s no playfulness, just bitter anger that Duff cannot look away from. “By them, I mean everyone I ever knew or met in that fucking town. Except Izz. He went by Jeffrey, back then. And I…I was William Bruce Bailey. But everyone called me Bill.” Axl scoffs but the sound is full of tears. Duff reaches out on instinct only to be met by Axl scooting back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, eyes glassy. “I just can’t when I talk about this.”

Duff nods, sits back. Axl relaxes, sniffing. He rubs at his nose, takes a moment to compose himself. “I hated that place like you wouldn’t believe, Duff,” he says. “I hated my life. I hated who they wanted me to be. I hated the people and the rules and the choir I had to sing in.” Duff stops himself from trying to hold Axl, clenching his hands.

“They hated me too,” Axl laughs, a broken, jaded laugh that Duff hopes he never has to hear again. “Hated me because I was a bastard; hated me cause I was different; hated me cause I was too pretty for a boy and caused trouble.”

Duff swallows. “Your family?”

“If you can even call them that.” Axl sneers at the thought of them, spitting his next words. “My mom thought I was a mistake, that much was obvious. And my stepdad was a real vicious bastard.” Axl smiles mockingly, looking down at the cup he’s holding onto like a lifeline. “Had a temper like me, and a mean right hook I was lucky enough to be on the other end of plenty of times. He loved to smack me around.” A haunted look passes over his face. “Among other things.”

Duff feels a spike of fury at that, hatred for this man and the things he’d done to his stepson, hatred for his mother and all that she’d let happen. He recalls the picture of Axl as a kid in his house, the lonely aura he’d had hanging around him. 

“I could never have been anything but miserable there,” Axl hisses, defenses rising to fight monsters of the past. “The happiest day of my life was the day Izz and I left for good.” The memory of hope, of pure joy washes over Axl’s face. “I remember blowing past the sign for that shitty little town and knowing I’d never be back. I was finally free of it all.”

“And then?” Because this has to be the moment Axl found out.

“Then, the engine to Izzy’s truck starts sputterin’ up a storm, and we nearly drive off the fuckin’ road.” Axl rolls his eyes, fond smile playing across his face. “We got out to check what was wrong, popped the hood, and there they were—roses, growing all inside the car, orange as a sunset in July.”

Duff can imagine the scene of two young boys bent over the car, eyes wide in wonder at the vivid clusters of roses peeking out from behind rusted wires. How magical it must have seemed. 

“It was odd, for sure. We didn’t think too much of it until we got to the next state over and I stepped out of the car. I was happy to be seeing something different for once. I’d never been outside of town, ya’ know? A cluster of roses grew around my feet while I was standing there.” Axl grins. “Izzy just about had a heart attack on the spot.”

Duff can’t blame him. “So you figured it out?" 

“Kind of.” Axl toys with the hem of Duff’s shirt he’d slipped on earlier. “We tested it out, tried seeing when they grew, when they wouldn’t. Neither of us were rocket scientists but it wasn’t too hard to connect the dots.” 

“Well.” Duff stretches his legs, trying, and most likely failing, to appear casual. “Thank you for telling me, Ax.” He smiles. “I’m glad to know the truth.” The mystifying, mind-blowing truth Duff accepts but is still having trouble processing in his stunned brain. 

Axl grimaces, pulling his knees to his chest. “Don’t thank me yet, babydoll. I’m not done.” He glances at Duff, worry written plain to see across his face. “And if this changes things between us, I get it.”

“It won’t,” Duff’s reply is firm. He hasn’t come this far to give up on Axl over a little hocus pocus.

“You might not be so sure in a minute.” Axl rubs his knees, pausing before he begins to speak again. “The people in my hometown weren’t entirely wrong about me. I’m not a good person, Duff.”

“They couldn’t have been more wrong. You’re the best person I know. Don’t tell Stevie I said that though, he’ll get jealous.” Duff hopes the joke might get Axl to laugh but instead it seems to make him shrink into himself further.

“That’s because you barely know me. I’m—” 

“A pain in the ass. A shameless cheat at board games. The only person I know who can dance for hours and not get tired or throw out their hip; the guy who reads fucking horrible western novels from the library in one sitting; the same guy that grew me roses from his own hands, and offered to tell me his secrets to help me write my article.” Duff raises his chin, challenging Axl to argue with him. “You aren’t changing my mind, no matter what you say. I didn’t know you could grow flowers like some sort of coked up enchanted fairy, fine. That’s not all there is to you as a person, Ax.”

“No, it’s not,” Axl agrees. His eyes are wide, face flushed pink at Duff’s description of him. Duff takes in the stubborn set of his jaw, the way Axl squares his shoulders as if preparing for a punch. “I’m also a scammer.”

Duff blinks, thrown. “Excuse me?”

Axl blows out a breath, meets Duff’s eyes. “I said I’m a scammer. Both me and Izz are. Have been for years.”

This admission is the farthest thing from what Duff imagined Axl might potentially say. His mouth is slightly ajar, coffee cup limp in his grip as he focuses on what Axl is telling him. “What does that even mean, Axl? A scammer? Like the people in Times Square who trick you into taking pictures with them?” Duff feels a tidal wave of questions threatening to spew forth. He stops, gives himself a second to calm down before continuing. “Explain.”

Axl sets the coffee mug down on the side table before turning back to Duff. “When Izzy and I made it out of Indiana, we needed a way to make money and fast. There was only so much couch-surfin’ we could do, and chicks got sick of us hangin’ around after a few days.” Axl tugs at a fraying string dangling off the edge of Duff’s couch. “So, Izzy decided, in light of my new abilities, to become an exotic botanist.”

Duff squints at Axl. His head is starting to pound in light of all the information he’s receiving today. “He went off to college?”

“Nah. Between the two of us, we might have pulled a single A back in high school.” Axl chuckles, fingers twirling the string between them. “He said he was an exotic botanist. Got some pretty good fake papers to prove it, too.”

“Okay?” Duff can’t quite follow yet. “What was the point of that?”

“He’s the face of the scheme, or whatever people wanna call it. The plan. Scam. I don’t know.” Axl shrugs. “Started meeting people interested in flowers, gardening. People who were lookin’ for extraordinary products, commodity items they could sell to others.”

“Not a surprise,” Duff mutters. “Bastard seems like he’d be pretty good at sweet talking.”

He is,” Axl agrees. “The best at it. He had people eating out of the palm of his hand by the time he was done with his little spiel.” Axl grins ruefully. “That’s where I came in.”

“You’re the product?”

“No.” Axl frowns, tilting his head to the side. “Well, technically, yeah. I grow them at least. See, we bought these seeds. Regular rose seeds, had to pawn off Izzy’s favorite guitar to buy enough the first time. But he told everyone they were special seeds, one of a kind.” Axl smirks at Duff. “The only seeds that can grow roses overnight.”

Axl drums his fingers on the couch, smirk growing wider. “What we’d do is get the folks in town real interested in what Izzy claimed to be selling. We had clients lining up at the door to get their hands on the seeds.”

“They believed it?” Duff finds it hard to believe himself, roses growing overnight from seeds. Granted, the truth is even stranger than the lie but he still can’t wrap his head around the idea of such gullible people. 

“Course not.” Axl motions with one hand, lazily waving it in the air. “They thought Izzy was lying to ‘em. Which he was. Still, we couldn’t leave room for doubt otherwise they’d never pay up. So, Izzy would go to their house with the seeds and offer to plant a small batch for them to test out. He’d even let the clients do it themselves if they insisted.” Axl rests his head on his knees as he continues. “Izzy had already scoped the place with me beforehand. We knew the client’s schedules, their security measures, all the good little details that let us sneak back to their house at night. And I’d get to work.”

Axl glances at Duff’s intrigued expression, smug in the assurance that he has Duff’s full attention. “By work, I mean growing the flowers.”

“I got that, thanks,” Duff grumbles.

“No need to pout, babydoll. Just explaining like you asked,” Axl replies, shit-eating grin in place. “Anyways, here’s how it works. Growing flowers like that is hard—takes a lot of concentration to get that many. Izzy and I would practice all the time in whatever abandoned land we could find. I’d focus on anything that made me happy; pile it all up in one big jumbled ball and then just kind of hone in on that warm feeling until it was all I could feel. It took a really long time at first, to be honest. But by the time we were scamming, I could do it in ten minutes or less.” Pride colors Axl’s voice at the statement.

“And in the morning, they’d see the flowers and buy your seeds.” Simple plan. Brilliant but simple.

“Bingo.” Axl winks. “We’d collect our money and move on to the next town before they figured out the seeds were a placebo or that the flowers only lasted a few days. Rinse and repeat. You’d be surprised how much people are willing to pay for magic flowers, McKagan. We sure as hell were.”

“No one ever tried to come after you for lying?”

“How could they?” Axl tucks strands of hair behind his ear. “We didn’t use our real names. Never gave a backstory, never stayed in one place past the scam. Besides, what were they gonna tell the police? Someone gave us fake flower seeds we paid a shit ton of money for cause we thought they were magic and would grow a fuckin’ beanstalk complete with a giant at the top?” Axl outright laughs this time, eyes bright. “And most of the people were competitive gardeners who wanted to cheat with fast-growing, perfect rose bushes. They would’ve hurt themselves if they’d squealed." 

“So you moved to Temperance? Why?”

“It was a small town that was off the radar. Izzy thought we needed a home base to work from and I agreed. This way we can go to surrounding cities without having to pack up and move between them. It’s pretty damn convenient, actually. Izzy interacts with everyone; I grow the roses in secret.” Axl bites his lip. “It helps that Izzy is pretty great at blending into the background. People don’t recognize his face.” But they would Axl’s. Of course they would, it’s not a face to forget.

“Your flowers,” he narrows his eyes, thinking. “They attracted reporters. Didn’t that raise any suspicion from people you’d scammed?”

“I never gave the reporters any information and the roses had died by the time they came sniffin’ around.” Duff thinks about the roses and recalls that he never saw them growing outside of Axl’s house for more than a day or two. “I don’t go into town much anyways.”

“I guess that accounts for what you and Izzy do.” Duff leans forward, intent. “It doesn’t explain the Festival. Why do it? Even if it won’t blow your cover or whatever, what’s the point of competing in a joke flower show in the first place?”

Axl lowers his eyes, gazing up at Duff from under his lashes. “Honestly? No one ever paid attention to me in this town when I moved here. I told you that. So when I saw how big a deal everyone made over this Festival, I figured I’d enter and win it, easy. And when I did, suddenly everyone was interested in me.” The humor from his earlier expression has begun to fade as Axl chews on his lip, mulling over his words. “When I did it again, people were obsessed with the roses. No one talked to me but they weren’t ignoring me at least.”

“And you hate being ignored,” Duff finishes softly.

“Yeah,” Axl’s voice is hushed. “It makes me feel alone. Not too different from home and I just don’t—” He sighs. “I can’t feel that way again, Duff. You don’t know what that’s like, for people to look right through you like you’re nothing. A waste of space.”

“Yes, I do.” Duff isn’t a stranger to being an outsider. He’s all too familiar with the loneliness that can come from not fitting into the space everyone has allotted you.

Axl scans his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume.”

“It’s fine.”

Axl nods, then his mouth twists up again as he raises his gaze. “Also, it felt fuckin’ fantastic to mess with the townies. There mighta been a little spite involved, I won’t lie.”

Duff laughs. He figured as much, can picture how Axl had relished the town’s obsession with his garden and their subsequent frustration at their inability to solve the puzzle. Then, the thought hits him. 

“Wait.” Duff glares at Axl, eyebrows furrowing. “You said that Izz makes you guys move around all the time. Are you keeping this as your home base or are you leaving eventually?”

Duff knows as soon as the question leaves his mouth that he won’t like the answer. Axl hunches his shoulders, apprehensive, hands curling around his knees once more. “We did plan on leaving…” his voice fades on the last word, eyes settling anywhere but on Duff.

“When?” Duff swears, if Axl says what he thinks he’s going to say.  

“After this year’s Festival.” Axl winces. “Planned on goin’ out with a boom before bookin’ it to the West Coast. After this last scam Izz is finishing up, we’ve both got enough money saved up to retire for a long time.”

“West Coast,” Duff repeats, struck dumb by the reveal.

“I’ve always wanted to see L.A.” Duff can picture that. Axl seems like someone who loves the sun, the hustle of a city filled with smiling people rushing around. California would suit him perfectly.

“Got it.” Duff’s voice sounds dull even to his own ears. “And you were just gonna leave without telling me goodbye?” Duff promptly finds himself with a lap full of Axl. Blue-green eyes search his face, earnest in their regard. 

“Babydoll, of course not,” Axl whispers, hands stroking up Duff’s neck to rest on his cheeks. “I would never have left you.”

“The Festival is less than three days away, Ax.” Duff tries not to lean into Axl’s hands, his warmth. “When exactly did you plan on breaking the news?”

“I tried!” Axl pulls Duff’s face towards him, forcing him to acknowledge what he’s saying. “I sent the pictures and they weren’t me trying to trick you.” He wedges himself between Duff’s legs, hands winding around his neck. “I swear, Duff, I would’ve told you. And I woulda asked you to come with.”

The hands fall from Duff’s face, landing in Axl’s lap. He looks lost as he regards Duff with a softness Duff is still having trouble believing is aimed at him. “I know it’s hard to believe me though, after what I just said. And you can’t really trust me cause I mean, I’m a scammer.” Axl gives him a small smile. “A freak, too.”

“You aren’t,” Duff responds. He rests his palms on Axl’s waist, holds him tight. “You’re the same, like I told you. And if you say you were gonna tell me, then I trust you.”

Judging by Axl’s face, he’d expected Duff to react much differently than he currently is. “Duff,” he says, wary. “I just told you I scam people for a living, darlin’. You’re just okay with that?”

“It’ll take some getting used to,” he admits. “But, Ax, if you haven’t been able to tell I’m kinda fuckin’ crazy about you.”

Axl lights up. His smile is radiant as he tugs Duff closer to him, laughing in sheer relief. A tickle brushes against Duff’s hand and he glances down. Transfixed, he watches as from the cracks of his couch, a sunny, butter yellow rose sprouts and blossoms.

“Joy,” Axl murmurs in his ear. The vibrations send a shiver down Duff’s spine, taking him back to last night, Axl whispering his name as he’d moved inside of Duff. He presses closer to Axl at the memory, instinctive.

“What?” He most definitely does not sound dazed.

The stretch of Axl’s grin presses against Duff’s cheek. “That’s what a yellow rose means, dumbass.”

“Hey!” Duff glowers in mock anger at Axl. “You can’t call me names, you just admitted you have a massive crush on me.”

“If I recall,” Axl drawls, “that was the other way around.”

“You totally like me,” Duff prods.

“I do.” Axl smirks. “But sometimes you make me wanna die from secondhand embarrassment.”

Duff snorts in amusement as Axl dips down until their mouths are level, his eyes slipping closed and contentment filling him during this moment that’s picture-perfect—until the phone rings.

Axl moves away, reluctant, eyes asking for apology. “It’s probably Izz, worried I’m not home. He left after me last night so I don’t think he knew I stayed over.” Axl accepts the call, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Izz, I’m—” Axl cuts off. Duff can vaguely hear frantic speech on the other end, high-pitched and close to yelling. Duff sits up, watching Axl’s face transform from the carefree look he’d sported a second ago, to utter panic. A horrible, sinking feeling has started at the pit of Duff’s stomach.

“What do you mean?” Axl’s voice breaks over the words. He pauses, listening to Izzy spout something off.

“All of it?” That can’t be good. Axl hops off of Duff in one fluid motion, running for the bedroom before Duff can react. He stares after the redhead, lost as to what he should do. Finally, Duff rises from the couch, careful not to disturb the yellow rose from its spot.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, Axl is off of his cellphone and already half-dressed. He slings on his shirt, tossing Duff’s across the room. Duff stands in the doorway, afraid to ask what happened or to enter. Axl grabs his jacket, breezes past Duff like he isn’t even there.

“Ax,” he tries. “Axl, what happened on the phone?”

Duff isn’t expecting Axl to stop so abruptly. It’s close, Duff screeching to a halt before he can run into Axl’s back which is unbelievably tense. Duff braces himself when Axl swings around, eyes dark.

“Just got the craziest call from Izz. Someone broke into my house last night." 

“That’s not possible.” Duff’s mouth takes off before he can stop it, think of the right thing to say. “Who would do something like that?”

Axl steps closer, menacing. “I don’t know,” and his voice is deep, scratching over the sentence as he stares daggers at Duff, “you tell me, McKagan. Cause I’ve only ever known of one fuckin’ person to try.”

“You…” Duff swallows around the hardness in his throat. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this. Axl, you can’t!”

“I don’t know what to think,” Axl hisses. Hostility radiates off of him in waves and Duff has never been afraid of Axl but he’s starting to get there. “All of my papers are gone, my letters, my documents. Stolen. And I don’t know of anyone who wanted those but you.”

“Why would I?” Duff struggles to keep his voice rational. “Axl, that makes no sense, come on. You sent me pictures of all of it yesterday!”

Axl paces in short, angry strides, hands pulling at his hair. Duff wants to touch him, badly, but knows Axl would lay him flat if he tried. “I don’t know,” he snarls. “I don’t know but maybe you just wanted solid proof, proof that couldn’t be erased.” It makes no sense, Duff knows that. The accusation is flimsy at best. He can also see that Axl is too far gone to care, or realize that fact. Defensiveness born from years of disappointment, of using anger as protection, has gathered around Axl and he’s lost to his emotions. 

Duff tries to reason with him anyways. “Axl, please,” he begs. “Please, just listen. I just need you to trust me.”

“I did trust you!” Axl screams, the words reverberating off of the thin walls. He’s spun towards Duff, chest heaving, eyes glowing with rage. Duff’s back hits the wall, hands raised in surrender.

“I trusted you.” Axl shakes his head, hair flying. “I was wrong to.” He backs towards the door, watching Duff like he’s going to leap forward and stab him in the back as he leaves. “Thanks for nothin’, McKagan.” Axl’s tone dips syrupy sweet but the words he tosses out are barbed, cruel. “At least you were a good fuck.” Duff flinches, the door slamming shut. Axl is gone.

He stares at the door, glued to the wall in shock. A steady ache has started within him, deepening with every moment that passes in the empty apartment, Axl’s insult echoing in the air. Duff turns his head to the couch, eyes beginning to blur behind the veil of tears starting to fall.

The yellow rose is rotting, petals a dingy brown, falling in abandoned heaps onto the tattered upholstery.


	9. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That time when Duff became an arsonist and learned how to properly say goodbye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilac roses when given to another person can be taken to mean love at first sight.

True to his word, Izzy is standing at Duff’s front door at eight the next morning, standard black coat pulled up to his chin. A cigarette dangles from his pinched lips as he stares at Duff, dark circles livid under his eyes. Duff knows he can’t look much better seeing as he hasn’t slept all night; Axl’s words had replayed in his mind, over and over, like lyrics to a song he can’t seem to shake off. Steven had offered to make the trek back home when Duff had called him sobbing at an obscenely late hour but he’d declined. Instead, he’d rung Izzy, praying that the other man would answer.

He had and now he’s leaning in Duff’s doorway, arms folded loose against his chest. His hair is matted with a tangled appearance that suggests he’s been running his hands through it.

“Can I come in?” Izzy sounds pissed but that doesn’t reveal much. He always sounds seconds away from coming at Duff with a hammer to the head.

Duff wordlessly steps aside, holding the door wide for Izzy to maneuver through. The apartment is a pigsty compared to yesterday when Axl had been there, sleeping in Duff’s bed, body snug against his own. He forces the memory into the back of his mind, can feel the sting of tears that haven’t safely retreated yet. In a fit of anger at the entire situation, he might have trashed his place. His poor neighbors had knocked on the door at midnight, yelling through the door to be heard over the Queen album he’d been blaring loud enough to wake the dead. In his defense, Axl adores Queen and he’d been fairly drunk at that point.

Duff swings the door closed, sighing as he scrubs a hand over his face. His fingers feel sticky and his brain tries to come up with an excuse for that. Had he been eating jelly with his bare hands or something equally disastrous? 

Duff watches Izzy, back still against the door. Izzy has his hands tucked into his coat pockets, a dark spot in the midst of Duff and Steven’s cream and beige decorations. He winces when Izzy’s gaze falls across the withered yellow rose, the only spot in the entire apartment which has been left untouched from Duff’s destructive rampage. He couldn’t bear to pluck it. Suddenly, he’s infinitely glad Izzy can’t see into his bedroom; the mattress full of dead rosebuds sitting on top of decaying vines. Duff had slept on the floor, once he’d finally tired himself out.

“Listen,” he says, stepping forward. “I know you might be mad at me—” Duff isn’t able to get out another word because Izzy’s fist is swinging at his face too quick to dodge. The impact of the punch knocks Duff off of his feet and he crumples to his knees, holding his hands over the bloody mess that’s now his nose.

“Damn it, Izzy,” he yells, blood gushing between his fingers. A small amount runs into Duff’s open mouth causing him to gag, dry heaves twisting his stomach up in knots. Duff hacks a wad of bloody spit onto the floor, grimacing at his filthy carpets new addition. “Was that really fuckin’ necessary?” He grumbles, staggering to his feet, unsteadily swaying.

Izzy’s chest is heaving, eyes unusually bright. The hand he’d hit Duff with is already showing the tell-tale signs of early bruising, knuckles swollen and pink. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it was for makin’ Ax fuckin’ cry.”

Duff flinches at the admission, holding himself tight as he struggles to keep the knot of hurt from rising up his throat. “I’m sorry.” He peers at Izzy from under greasy locks of blond hair. “How is he?”

Izzy’s shoulders slump, fists unclenching. He looks defeated which scares Duff more than his righteous anger had. “Not too good, Blondie.”

Duff nods, biting his lip hard. He wants to prod for more information but won’t ask for fear that Izzy will tell him to fuck off, mind his own business. The apprehension must be clear on his face because Izzy takes one look over at him and sighs.

“He’s not angry with you anymore. Came to his damn senses and figured out it probably wasn’t you that broke in, seein’ as he told me about your little rendezvous the other night.”

Duff is relieved and horrified. “He told you about…?”

Izzy grins, looking Duff up and down. He suddenly finds himself rather self-conscious of the litter of love-bites painted across his neck. “Oh, he told me alright, Duffy,” Izzy drawls. “How you cried like a little girl durin’ it and everything.”

Duff chokes, wishing for a bolt of lightning to come from the sky and strike him dead so he can avoid having the most awkward morning after talk with Izzy fucking Stradlin. “I did not! I just got very emotional because it was intimate and he was saying these things and—you know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you, Stradlin!”

Izzy is cackling, head tossed back and belly heaving as he laughs at Duff. “Oh shut the fuck up, Izz,” Duff snaps at him, tossing his hair back. “I didn’t call you over here so you could get your kicks laughing at me.”

“Sorry,” Izzy manages, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye as he smirks at Duff.

Duff glares at him before his previous words fully sink in. “He doesn’t think I have anything to do with it?” Izzy shakes his head. “Do you?”

“No.” Izzy glances over at the yellow roses remains, wrinkling his nose. “You’re a little far up his ass for betrayal to be in the books, don’t ya’ think?”

“Then why did you damn near break my nose off, Izz?” He wipes at the bleeding nose in question, forsaking his blood-stained hand for his conveniently white shirt. Perfect.

“It’s nothin’ personal.” He holds his hands up, shrugging. “I mean that, whether you believe it or not. Don’t make no difference to me. But Ax? See, I’ve known him way before you came into the picture, Blondie. And he’s like a brother to me, no matter how many times I wanna fuckin’ smother him in his sleep.” Izzy straightens, face fierce in his defense of Axl. “Nobody is gonna make him cry or hurt him while I’m around. I promised myself that when we left that shitstain town together. You may not have meant to hurt him—course ya’ didn’t cause you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. But it’s the principle of the thing. Hope you can understand.” Izzy twirls the cigarette before letting it fall to Duff’s cursed carpet, putting it out under the heel of his cowboy boot. “If you don’t, guess that blows for you." 

Duff does understand, in spite of the throbbing centered around the inflamed cluster of nerves located in his broken nose. “Fine.” His voice comes out muffled from behind the wad of t-shirt he’s holding to his face to staunch the blood flow. “We’re cool.”

Izzy tips his head in acknowledgement. “So,” he begins, “guess you found out about Axl’s little magic trick, huh?”

“You could say that.” Duff sniffs, immediately wishing he hadn’t as a flare of pain shoots up his nostrils. “I told him none of it matters, in case you were wondering. Which I know you were, nosy-ass.”

Izzy smirks. “He told me. After he’d stopped cussin’ up a storm and tearing his bedroom to shit, of course.” Izzy sinks onto the threadbare couch, crossing his leg at the knee. “Figured you’d say as much. You don’t look at someone the way you look at Ax without thinkin’ the best of them no matter what.”

Duff smiles, can’t bring himself to meet Izzy’s eyes. He knows what he needs to tell Izzy, why he called him here. He’s stalling, unwilling to do what needs to be done. He forces the conversation forward anyways.

“I know who did it.”

Izzy’s mouth twists, ugly. “Who?” Duff takes him in, once again finding himself grateful for Izzy who he is certain will always watch out for Axl, even when others cannot or will not.

“Saul.”

Izzy snarls, teeth bared like a wild animal as he scoots to the edge of the couch. “That fucker from the date?”

Duff moves his head in the affirmative, eyes switching between Izzy and the nondescript spot on the floor he’s been staring at with intense scrutiny to avoid bursting into tears. Something tells him Izzy isn’t known for his comforting abilities.

“Shit,” Izzy swears, a trail of expletives falling from his mouth as he rises from the couch, straightening his black ensemble. “Well, what are we gonna do about him, McKagan?” He moves past Duff, a protective shadow ready to take to the streets and wreak havoc in broad daylight all for Axl’s sake. That devotion is good because Duff will need it within the next few minutes if he truly is going to make things right and help them.

“Not we,” he says, turning to face Izzy. His voice is shaking, so are his hands, but he stands firm, raising his eyes to meet Izzy’s confused gaze. “I am.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Duff exhales slow, willing himself to remain calm, not get emotional. “You finish up that last scam Axl told me about?”

Izzy’s expression smooths out, realization beginning to dawn. He’s quick on the uptake, just like Axl had said. “Yeah,” he draws the word out, eyes studying Duff, reaching a conclusion. “Why?”

“Because I want you to do exactly what you two planned all along.” Duff clenches his fists, focuses on the ache in his head instead of the one in his heart. “Leave. Take Axl and fucking run for it. Go to California and don’t look back.”

Izzy stares. Blinks. Cocks his head to the side, mouth pulled down. “What are you gonna do?”

“Damage control.” Duff does not think of Axl’s face, his voice laughing under the covers as they’d kissed. “I’m gonna find out what Saul has, what he knows, and nip it in the bud as best I can. But I don’t know if he’s made copies, if he’s shared the information with anyone else, if he’s already told the news and written the article. Which is why I need you both gone today. Lay low until I can get word through Nikki but whatever you do, don’t come back to this town.” He smiles weakly at Izzy. “Hard request, huh? I know how much you guys love it here in Temperance.” Izzy is still staring, and Duff fidgets. “Think you can do that for me, Stradlin?”

Duff knows the answer before Izzy speaks. “Of course I can.” Izzy’s hand rests on the doorknob. “But Ax won’t leave without saying goodbye. You know that.”

He does not think of Axl in his lap, Axl kissing his eyelids when they’d fluttered shut. “Then tell him whatever you need to make him leave. Tell him I’m angry with him over last night, that I changed my mind about him.” The words feel like they’re cutting him open. “I don’t care, Izz. Say anything that’ll make him hate me, make him want to go. Okay?” Duff feels the tears slide down his cheeks, curses himself for being weak enough to cry like a baby in front of Izzy. 

“I need you to do this for me,” he pleads, voice hoarse. “For Axl.”

They size each other up, a final moment between them before Izzy takes off with Axl in tow, leaving Duff in the dust. 

“You’re a total piece of shit, McKagan,” but the faintest hint of a smile plays at Izzy’s mouth. Then, he’s gone. 

Duff wastes no time after Izzy leaves. He pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing Saul’s number.

He waits.

                                                                                                 --------------

Duff draws the blinds to the breakroom, shutting the door behind him to block out the chatter of his coworkers. He sets his water bottle on the table, sits in an absurdly uncomfortable plastic chair as he counts down the time.  The handle of the door turns, ever so slightly. Duff is rigid in his seat but he makes his body relax, pastes a grin on his face. The door swings open to reveal Saul, holding a crate filled with what Duff assumes to be the stolen items from Axl’s home that he’d helped himself to. 

Saul frowns when he sees him, zeroing in on Duff’s nose. “What the hell happened to you, Blondie?” The nickname really is so much better when Izzy says it.

“Well, when Rose found out I was planning on meeting up with you to go over his stuff, let’s just say he wasn’t too pleased with me.” Duff tries his hardest to appear nonchalant, the lie rolling off of his tongue. He cannot mess this up. Too much hangs in the balance of everything going according to plan.

Saul whistles, moving closer to scrutinize the blotched skin. “Damn, he’s got a hell of a good hook on him for such a little thing.” Axl would beat the shit out of Saul for referring to him as a “little thing”. Duff takes comfort in the thought, imagines the way Axl’s eyes would glint with murderous intent. 

“The guy’s nuts. Had a fucked up life and it carried over to his personality, I guess.” Duff is only saying this for Saul’s benefit but the words still seem treasonous. He apologizes to Axl in his head, simultaneously worrying about his own mental health.

“Told ya’ so.” Saul tosses a smirk his way, setting the crate down in front of Duff with a heavy thunk. “He ain’t the kinda guy anyone would wanna be with, Duffy.” Duff wants to lean over and hurl on Saul’s shiny little boots. Saul doesn’t know anything about Axl, couldn’t even if he tried; the implication that he is somehow the better choice for Duff would be near laughable if it didn’t fill Duff with revulsion.

He keeps his hands firmly at his sides instead of using them to wallop Saul into the far-off future like he wants to do. “You were right.” Duff drops his voice, making it as gentle, as child-like as possible. He hunches his shoulders, tries to appear smaller as he looks doe-eyed up at Saul. Men like him need to feel superior and correct at all times. If Duff needs to ego suck in order to get Saul to trust him for all of twenty minutes, then he absolutely will.

“I just thought he was like me, ya’ know?” He shrugs, let’s a thin veil of sadness peek through as he wills his eyes to get a tad glossy. He beseeches Saul with his eyes, let’s the other man loom over him as Duff whines at him about how wrong he was to not choose Saul. “I’m used to being the guy nobody wants. He had that look about him too and I just thought maybe…” Duff licks his lips, voice trailing into soft silence. He keeps his muscles from flinching on reflex when Saul grabs him under the chin, lifting his face up.

“Sweetheart, I told you, nobody knows you like I do.” His other hand pets Duff’s hair, tugging on it like it’s a leash, a collar to force Duff to heel. “Nobody else wants you, but that’s okay. I do.” He beams down at Duff, sure the flimsy assurance that he wants Duff will suddenly make everything okay in the world. Duff wants to laugh at the conceited condescension of it all.

“I know, Saul,” he simpers, pushing up into the hand grabbing at him. “You said we could do great things together, and I could never do that with Axl. Only you.” A hungry look passes across Saul’s face that Duff allows himself to mirror, holding their eye contact as he raises a steady hand to move Saul’s hair out of the way.

It’s too easy but Duff had expected it to be. People like Saul, people that are used to winning, always think they’ll be rewarded with what they want in the end. He’s positive Saul has been waiting for Duff to crawl back to him since the moment he’d punched him in the break-room.

“Baby,” Saul pats the crate. “After this, we’re set. There’s shit in here that you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe. Crazy stuff, Duff, I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know if all of its true or not but you know what they say.” He leans down, inches from Duff. “The press decides what’s true and what’s not. We say they’re heartless scammers that need to be stopped? That’s what they are. And look at ‘em. Who the fuck is gonna believe a word they say?” That same cruel glint Duff had glimpsed previously lights up Saul’s eyes with sadistic enjoyment.

“You tell anyone else?” Duff watches Saul’s face, attempting to spot any form of deceit. 

Saul shakes his head, hair bouncing back into place. “Not yet. Mentioned to Newton I’d gotten a big scoop concernin’ the rose ordeal and he told me to hold off and show him first, then come up with a game plan.” He drums his fingers along the side of the box. “After that? We go big, Duffy. Let the story leak everywhere. We’d be famous for taking down whatever little scheme they’ve been pullin’.”

“Sounds great,” Duff breathes out. One more question that needs to be answered. “We should make copies of everything, make sure nothing gets lost or anything. Wouldn’t want our evidence to disappear.” He smiles, innocent, encouraging.

Saul nods enthusiastically. “Fuck, yeah. Haven’t actually gotten to that yet but it’s a good idea.” Of course he hadn’t. Saul’s so certain everything will fall into place, that nothing could go wrong for him. Why would he need a foolproof plan like copies of important documents?

“Then I guess we better go get Newton, huh?” Duff strokes Saul’s face, let’s his hand fall into his lap as he leans back in his seat. “Let’s get this show on the road, Hudson.” He winks, licking his lips. Saul’s eyes go dark and Duff thinks for a heart-stopping moment he might have to let Saul kiss him. But then he’s moving away, watching Duff in a predatory manner, self-perceived victory evident in the confident way he walks.

“Be back in a second.” He slips out of the room, leaving Duff alone with the crate chock full of Axl’s secrets. Not for the first time, Duff wonders how Saul ever managed to become a successful reporter.

He only takes one glance into the box. The first paper he sees is written in Axl’s handwriting, the chicken scratch familiar in a way that squeezes at Duff’s throat. Unscrewing the lid of his water bottle, Duff empties the liquid over the paper, letting it pool at the bottom of the crate. The smell of vodka wafts across the room, heavy and sharp. Duff doesn’t look at the matches when he pulls them from his back pocket, isn’t focused on the flame that flicks to life with a quick strike. He throws one, two, three into the box. The flames catch instantaneously, licking up the sides of the wooden crate and charring the edges of the paper inside. Time passes, possibly only minutes, but it’s enough for the fire to have engulfed the box, the documents inside blackened lumps, scattered words legible on the shreds of paper that haven’t fallen into ashes yet. It’s spreading, smoke spiraling into the air and releasing that bonfire scent Duff has always loved. The smoke alarm sets off. Duff has the distant thought that this will be an unpleasant repeat of Saul’s date with Axl, and giggles.

The door bursts open, hitting the wall hard enough to dent. Duff serenely watches Saul’s face morph from shock, to horror, to a wrath that might leave Duff comatose in the hospital. Duff can’t find it in himself to care. At the end of the day, he’s ensured Axl is safe from Saul, from his secrets ever getting into the wrong hands. That counts as a win in his books.

“You absolute piece of shit,” Saul growls. Duff wants to tell him to get in line—after all, hadn’t Izzy just called him that a couple hours ago? “How could you? How the fuck could you?!” He’s screaming, advancing on Duff. 

Duff isn’t worried. He reaches to the side, grabs the fire extinguisher off the wall, and aims. He misses the fire on his first try, completely by accident, of course. He hits Saul instead, sending him reeling into the wall, hacking and pawing at his face. The foam has caught into his curls, painting the picture of a large, rabid snowman. He puts the actual fire out last minute. Shame, he had kind of wanted to see the whole building burn down.

“What the hell sort of stunt are you pulling now, McKagan?” Newton’s face is purple, eyes bulging as he swings between staring at a blinded Saul and glaring at Duff. “I give you a chance, a solid chance, and this is how—” 

“Shut your fucking mouth, Newton.” Duff knows he’s fired as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Truthfully, he could give less of a shit. He needs a change in scenery in his opinion, far away from this oppressive office and Saul.

Newton looks like he’s on the verge of passing out. His mouth opens and closes, doing a spectacular impression of a fish out of water. “You-you can’t talk to me that way! McKagan, you’re—”

“Outta here. I know.” He sets the fire extinguisher down, shoving past Newton on his way out. “Trust me, I won’t miss it and I don’t regret it.” He only regrets not doing it sooner. A rush of satisfaction, of rightness settles between his shoulder blades. 

The feeling stays with him, even as he cleans out his desk amidst the whispers being exchanged about him behind his back. It remains when Saul, eyes freshly rinsed, storms in and is held-back from assaulting Duff with a stapler by half of the office. Intensifying as he walks out into the afternoon light, Duff smiles, thinking he finally understands what Axl meant when he’d described the freedom of leaving a place you do not belong.

                                                                                                    --------------

Duff has a final stop before going home and collapsing into his bed. The thought of sleeping the next week away sounds entirely appealing but there’s one thing he needs to do first.

His car takes the back road, bumping along on the winding dirt path. Duff hopes Izzy listened to him and took Axl away from this poisonous town of people who do not deserve him; he hopes Izzy ignored him, that Axl will be waiting on the porch, red hair fiery under the dim winter sunlight. He already knows which has happened when he reaches the house, parking the car down the street.

There’s a crowd gathered around the front of Axl’s house. Duff walks up beside them, pushing his way through to the front in order to see. The first thing he notices is the empty driveway. Then, the door to the house, wide open as if the inhabitants had left in a hurry, abandoning their home with no second thoughts. Finally, he focuses on what everyone else is gawking at in the same mystified awe they always show.

Axl’s roses have come early. It doesn’t matter, because as usual, they are breath-taking in their beauty. The roses are immense, spreading around the house, crawling up the walls, reaching towards the grey sky. The thorns glisten with frost, winking like diamonds as they stand guard on the rich green vines. The flowers appear larger than normal, fist-sized, a sea of petals in lilac. Light purple buds gracing the masses with their delicate splendor, a wash of watercolor on deadened grass. Duff thinks he might have read that purple roses are the rarest kind. A surge of pride rushes through him, for Axl and his lovely gift, his magnificent roses. 

He stands in the cold for hours, looking at Axl’s flowers, until he’s alone in the street, sun setting, taking in the final goodbye from the boy he could have easily loved.


	10. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is here, and with it a new beginning for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter is here. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Duff takes a step back, head angled to look up at his dingy, old apartment building for the final time. All of the meager belongings he owns are boxed up, stuffed into his truck for the long journey on the road. He has no particular destination in mind other than heading as far away from Temperance as he possibly can. The past four months have taught him that this small town holds nothing but empty promises; hollow opportunities that no longer appeal to him the way they had in the past. He’s got nothing left here except for memories from February—a time that seems simultaneously like it happened yesterday and a lifetime ago. The roses have long since scattered to the wind, dead leaves disappearing under melting snow. It’s late June now, and Duff is ready to move on. 

Nikki steps down the crooked stairs leading from the third floor, careful to avoid walking in the wet wad of gum clinging to the bottom step. He’s wearing a leather jacket despite the summer heat waves, hair wet with sweat due to the busted air conditioner upstairs. He stops beside Duff, squinting at him through the harsh glare from the sun.

“You sure about this? You can stay here, you know.” He flashes Duff a smile, teeth reflecting light. “I promise Stevie and I will behave ourselves at the dinner table.”

Duff snorts. That’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Nikki has been living in the tiny living space with Duff and Steven for two months now and the amount of times Duff has walked in on them humping like dogs in heat has left him scarred for life. Still, Steven walks around on cloud nine half the time, smiling like a loon whenever a sappy love song hits the radio. Nikki makes pancakes every morning, hand-feeding them to Steven in a way that might resemble a fifties sitcom if Nikki didn’t make lewd jokes about the syrup. Duff is happy for his friends, truly. He just also can’t bear to be around them most of the time, through no fault of their own.

“It’s cool, Nik. You guys need your own space and I’m more than happy to get out of the lease on that shithole.” He glances up at the window he knows leads to his former home, feels nothing but a vague sense of nostalgia mixed with strong relief. “Steven has you to take care of him,” he shrugs. “And I’ve always wanted to travel. Just never got around to it.”

Nikki hums thoughtfully, hair blowing in the humid breeze. “Where do you think you’ll end up?”

Duff hasn’t thought that far ahead. The itch to get behind the wheel and drive, take off onto an endless stretch of highway with no destination in sight, has been calling to him for quite some time. But one location has been circling in the back of mind. “Not sure yet. Wherever it is, hopefully they’ll have a better newspaper to work for than the one in Temperance.” Another compelling reason to leave—finally finding a job in his field where he isn’t surrounded by manipulative scumbags, like-minded enablers, and incompetent bosses. His portfolio is typed out, resting under the driver’s seat and sporting new features from his online blog he’d started out of mind-numbing boredom.

“I’m willing to bet California has some pretty sweet opportunities.” At Duff’s pointed look, he grins. “What, you think I’m dumb? We both know your car’s gonna end up headin’ to wherever he is.” Nikki doesn’t need to specify who exactly he’s referring to.

“That’s over, Nikki.” Duff sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets in case he starts to fidget. “He’s off somewhere livin’ it up with Izzy, rich and happy, and damn well over me.” Of course Axl is. Duff knows that he was never the outstanding one, the special one, in their relationship. If it could have even been called a relationship, seeing as they’d never made anything official. Duff never needed labels when it came to Axl but maybe Axl hadn’t felt the same way. He could be off with another guy right now, remembering Duff as a distant part of his past that he feels nothing towards except faint thankfulness.

“Duff, you’ve never given yourself enough credit, man. Always thinking someone’s better than you.” Nikki shakes his head, rolls up the sleeves of his jacket. “I don’t know why you didn’t go after him sooner. Stevie and me were placin’ bets on when you’d get your ass in gear.”

“Izz never messaged me to tell me where they were, if they made it safe,” Duff protests.

Nikki stares at Duff, scoffing. “McKagan, if you look me in the eyes and tell me you’re about to sit on your ass and wait for Izzy to give you the go ahead, I’m gonna break that pretty little nose of yours all over again.”

Duff feels that’s entirely unfair. He had been waiting for Izzy because that’s what he’d told Izzy he would do. Surely, Izzy would have contacted him by now if there was any chance Axl wanted to see him. He opens his mouth to tell Nikki but is cut off by Steven flying down the stairs, blond hair streaming behind him. He ducks under Nikki’s outstretched arm, fitting snug against his body as he beams up at his boyfriend. Nikki smirks down at Steven, contrasting with the tender kiss he places on Steven’s forehead. 

Duff makes a fake gagging sound, holding his stomach as he pretends to puke on his shoes. Steven laughs, burrowing closer to Nikki.

“Screw you, Duff,” Nikki flips him off, smirk still firmly in place. He turns to Steven, side-eyeing Duff in a way that screams mischief. “Duff just told me he’s going to find Axl.” Nikki turns to Duff, smirk widening out into a grin. “Ain’t that right, buddy?”

Steven squeals before Duff can manage to insult Nikki’s mother. “It’s about time, dude!” He reaches out from his place at Nikki’s side, bumps Duff’s shoulder with a closed fist. “I’ve never seen you as happy as you were when you were with Axl, Duff. Not in all the time I’ve known you.” He nods, uncharacteristically serious. “He’s good for you. Don’t mess this up.”

What can Duff say back to that? His throat is oddly clogged after Steven’s words, and he coughs to clear it, glaring at Nikki when he chuckles knowingly.

“Well,” he begins walking backwards to his car, ready to leave but unwilling to let his two, truest friends out of his sight just yet. “Once I reach a place and decide to settle down, I’ll send a postcard. You assholes better visit.”

“Wouldn’t miss that housewarming party for the world,” Nikki drawls.

“It’ll be nice to leave town sometimes,” Steven adds, eyes foggy as he watches Duff climb into his car. Duff waves through his dirty windshield, watches their figures in the rearview as he pulls out onto the main road. They are the only thing he bothers to look back at.

He blows past the Temperance welcome sign, eyes never leaving the flat expanse in front of him. Twenty-four years of his life have been wasted in this town, going nowhere. Duff won’t make that mistake again.

                                                                                                  -------------- 

The first week of his time spent on the road, Duff drives across the country, stopping as often as he possibly can. He picks up small trinkets: keychains, postcards, assorted paraphernalia from countless odds-and-ends shops. He makes a point to find local bookstores and buy a single western novel from each one. Every cover is graced with a polaroid of the city he’s in, immortalized in fuzzy snapshots that convey pieces of a story he’s just beginning. A few of the books he even reads, late at night in his car under the moonlight, or in the occasional motel. Duff imagines another presence reading over his shoulder, laughing at the corny jokes and rooting for the underdog.

Duff visits mountains, lakes, rivers, deserts, and forests. He takes pictures to document his time, writes in a journal holding pressed leaves and flowers that he doesn’t know the names of. There are people he meets along the way, numbers exchanged between hitchhikers and city-hoppers that find his small town accent interesting and fun. Sitting under the stars at night, Duff tries his best to live in the moment; to not wish for more than what he has with him.

He’s in Oregon, eating at a diner which boasts that it sells the best French toast in the state, when the text comes. A mouthful of powdered sugar clinging to fried dough, and he’s swallowing it whole, gulping down lukewarm coffee as his eyes lock onto the phone screen. The number isn’t saved into his contacts and Duff has never seen it before. The message is an address, nothing more. But Duff knows, with a burning certainty in his gut. He throws a twenty on the table, doesn’t bother to wait for change. His car is gunning it south, pushing forward to California. To Axl.

                                                                                            --------------

The house his car pulls up to is not what Duff was expecting. It’s two stories, painted light yellow with white trimming along the window edges. The yard is mowed neat, driveway sporting an orange Volkswagen beetle that definitely wasn’t manufactured in the past couple decades. He sits in his car, staring at the home which he finds impossibly hard to believe belongs to Axl and Izzy. It might have been a wrong number, after all. He could have driven all the way here for nothing, just to sit in a stranger’s driveway blocking their car, clutching a stack of westerns to his aching chest.

Duff forces himself out of the car, taking tiny steps to the front door. If it is the wrong house, then he will have lost nothing; however, if this is the right house, and he leaves without trying, then Duff has missed out on a chance to see Axl again. That just isn’t an option.

When he reaches the door, Duff raises an unsteady fist to knock, balancing the books in his other hand. The door swings open first and Duff is greeted with the absurdly wonderful sight of Izzy holding a beer and scowling at Duff from behind his standard black sunglasses. For an instant, Duff thinks he might drop the books and hug Izzy, he’s so relieved. Common sense returns seconds later, and Duff has never been more glad to have his hands full and preoccupied.

Izzy stands back, jerks his head towards the inside of his house. “Get in here, Blondie. Don’t want you sittin’ on our doorstep like a lost dog.” Duff pads after him, looking very much like the attention-starved canine Izzy accused him of being.

“How are you guys?” He kicks off his shoes, remembering Axl’s obsession with clean floors free of scuff marks and boot prints.

“Just dandy,” Izzy leads him to the living room, a wide space with vaulted ceilings and plenty of California sun beaming in through the windows. “You did us a real solid back there.”

“And Axl?” Izzy observes him, sunglasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. His eyes land on the books in Duff’s arm and he snatches one, flipping the cover open. Duff tries his best not to blush while he watches Izzy take in the polaroid, the western title.

“Huh,” is all Izzy says, but Duff can hear the implications behind the sound. Izzy snaps the book shut, setting it on the honey-brown coffee table Duff compares to his own three-legged one from back home.

“You gonna be stayin’ here with us then, I take it?” A faint smile on Izzy’s lips at the words. Duff wants to weep with joy but he won’t consider himself in the clear until he’s spoken to Axl himself.

“I don’t have to.” He sets the rest of the books down, shrugging. “I was going to look around town and try to find something close. I didn’t want to assume anything, you know?”

Izzy clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. “Sure,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from the word. “Long as I don’t wake up to the sound of you and Ax fuckin’ at two in the mornin’, we’ll get along just fine.”

Duff sputters, face burning. “That’s not gonna happen!”

Izzy’s mouth pulls up at the corner as he surveys Duff. “I don’t know,” he laughs, low in his throat. “From what I hear, you’re a bit of a screamer, McKagan.”

“That’s a fucking lie!” Duff shouts the words, hands clutched to his chest in an attempt to cover his already clothed skin. Izzy howls, slumping against the couch as he waves Duff away with his pale hand.

“He’s out back,” Izzy chokes out, snickering. “Go get ‘em tiger. And welcome home.”

Duff trips over his own feet attempting to put distance between himself and Izzy’s sniggering. He stumbles through the kitchen, reaches the glass door leading out to the backyard. Duff pauses, hand resting on the handle. Through the glass, Duff can make out Axl laying under the harsh rays, soaking up the California sunbeams. He’s spread on top of the grass, copper hair splayed behind him, slightly longer than Duff remembers it being. His skin is pink, in the beginning stages of a nasty sunburn because of course Axl isn’t the type to use sunscreen or worry about trivial things like skin cancer.

Sliding the door open, Duff tries his best to move silently, not wanting to disturb the peaceful countenance Axl is displaying. Duff’s attention is solely on Axl, which is why it’s no surprise that he trips on thin air after taking a single step. A surprised squeak escapes his mouth as his arms pinwheel in a vain effort to remain upright. By the time Duff rights himself, Axl has sprung to his feet.

Duff pants, utterly embarrassed. “Hey, Ax. You look good.” Completely true. Axl looks healthy, skin glowing and eyes shining. California really does agree with him. He’s wearing a tight pair of shorts slung low around his waist, hipbones protruding in an enticing display that Duff is having a hard time ignoring. The rest of Axl is bare, flushed skin. Duff has the sudden need to see him up close in order to determine what shade his eyes currently are. 

“Not too shabby yourself, McKagan.” Axl sounds hesitant. He makes no move to approach Duff. His mouth is a straight line, expression blank. Duff still can’t read his eyes because of the sun’s glare.

“Thanks.” Duff hates how cautious he’s being. This is Axl—his Axl. He shouldn’t have to tip-toe around, worried that he’ll say the wrong thing. Inevitably, he will. But he isn’t wasting another second of time, that’s for damn sure.

“I missed you.” He doesn’t blurt the words out; they aren’t rushed, or quiet, or unsure. He takes a step forward, chin raised. “I could barely fuckin’ think without you there, Ax. It was like everything about that town became unbearable once you’d gone.” Duff shakes his head. Takes another step. “I think I need you to keep me sane.”

Axl is quiet. His head is lowered, hair obscuring half of his face from Duff’s line of sight. Duff bridges the distance, tucks the hair behind Axl’s ears before cupping his face between his palms. Axl’s eyes meet his, sea glass green. Duff smiles.

“Say something, sweetheart,” he murmurs, bending to place a kiss on the tip of Axl’s nose, hoping he hasn’t misread the signs.

A pause, and then, “I thought you changed your mind,” said so fucking small Duff feels his own heart breaking. He pulls Axl to him, wraps an arm around his waist.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna change my mind on this, Axl. I told you what I wanted, remember?”

Axl’s lips twitch into a weak grin. “How could I forget with you screamin’ it in my ear like that?" 

Duff scowls. “Okay, you really need to stop telling Izz about all that cause he’s nearly given me a damn coronary twice now.” 

“There ain’t no secrets between best friends,” Axl drawls, sliding his own arms around Duff. “Besides, I thought it was sweet.” He drags a nail down Duff’s back, scratching through the thin material of his cotton shirt. Duff shivers, pressing back into the contact. “Perfect, babydoll. Just like you, fuckin’ perfect for me.”

“I’m sorry,” because it has to be said. “I should have come after you sooner. When things cleared up in Temperance, I should have followed you, Ax.”

Axl shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You came after me, Duff.” He looks up at Duff in wonder. “No one’s ever cared enough about me to do that before.” He smirks. “Except Izzy.”

“Don’t feed his ego.” Duff traces Axl’s bottom lip, stops himself from leaning down to kiss him.

“It grows no matter what I do,” Axl answers, a mock serious expression on his face. He twirls a lock of Duff’s hair around his finger, cocking his head to the side. “So you stayin’ in the area? Or will I have to hunt you down wherever you move off to?”

“Actually, Izzy seems to be under the impression I’m moving in with you guys. Figured it’d be awfully rude to correct him and all that, so I thought I’d check with you.” Duff bites his lip, relieved when Axl’s face lights up with excitement. 

“Well,” he pretends to think it over but Duff knows his answer from the way his eyes are gleaming bright. “I guess you can stay in my room. So you aren’t in Izzy’s way or nothin’.” 

“I don’t want to piss him off,” Duff agrees. “He’s got a nasty right hook.”

Axl laughs, rising up to kiss Duff’s nose, tiny pecks in quick succession. “Sorry about that.” He sighs, hands fisting in Duff’s shirt. “I should warn you, I’m a terrible bed hog.”

“Oh, I know, Ax.” Duff raises an eyebrow. “You and your fuckin’ flowers.”

“Hey!” Axl hits his chest, playful. “Your tall ass loves my flowers.” He grins up at Duff. “And me?” It’s presented as a question, Axl’s voice unsure despite his cocksure attitude.

Duff watches Axl’s face as he replies, “Yeah, you could definitely say that.” The spark of pure contentment, bliss washing over his features, softening his eyes as he guides Duff’s face to his own.

“Get a room,” yelled by Izzy from wherever the fucker is watching them from inside the house, and Duff laughs into Axl’s smiling mouth.

“Walk the damn walk and kiss me, babydoll,” murmured against Duff’s lips, impatient. Duff obeys the way he always will for Axl Rose.

They’re twisted around each other, bodies flush, hands roaming and grasping and pulling closer, always closer. Axl laughs between kisses, eyelashes tickling Duff’s cheek like the softest flower petals. Duff feels it when it happens—that split second where Axl’s delight manifests itself into the physical world for all to see. He breaks the kiss, only for a moment, to take in the roses springing up from the dirt around them. Red, and white, and lilac, all growing on and over each other; tangling their vines, scratching against the sides of Duff’s jeans as they rise. Axl coaxes him back in, lips claiming Duff’s and happiness seeping from his skin, as they belong together, as they belong in the moment, free and content and they are, 

Blooming.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and hopefully you enjoyed!   
> Find me on tumblr:[@thebyegonedays](https://thebyegonedays.tumblr.com)


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